I Wish These Words Were Mine Sometimes...

O LORD,
No day of my life has passed that has not proved me guilty in thy sight.
Prayers have been uttered from a prayerless heart;
Praise has been often praiseless sound;
My best services are filthy rags.
Blessed Jesus, let me find a covert in thy appeasing wounds.
Though my sins rise to heaven thy merits soar above them;
Though unrighteousness weighs me down to hell,
              thy righteousness exalts me to thy throne.
All things in me call for my rejection,
All thing in thee plead my acceptance.
I appeal from the throne of perfect justice
              to thy throne of boundless grace.
Grant me to hear thy voice assuring me:
              that by thy stripes I am healed,
              that thou wast bruised for my iniquities,
              that thou hast been made sin for me
              that I might be righteous in thee,
              that my grievous sins, my manifold sins, are all forgiven,
                     buried in the ocean of they concealing blood.
I am guilty, but pardoned,
        lost, but saved,
        wandering, but found,
        sinning, but cleansed.
Give me perpetual broken-heartedness,
Keep me always clinging to thy cross,
Flood me every moment with descending grace,
Open to me the springs of divine knowledge,
          sparkling like crystal,
          flowing clear and unsullied
               through my wilderness of life.

-- "The Broken Heart",  The Valley of Vision, Puritan Prayers

Immanuel

Oh Immanuel 
Your day has come 
to bring forth redemption 
to a people so corrupt. 
And though we knew, 
of Your presence forthcoming, 
we still ignore, still ignore, 
the greatest gift we've ever received. 
Let us raise a voice of praise, 
to the day the Word became Flesh, 
because we deserve nothing, 
yet were given a King, 
of heavenly glory. 
Our king,
Oh Immanuel. 


Isaiah 7:14
"Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel."

Gideon

Here is my fleece,
on the ground,
in Your hands,
fully offered up.
Because I can't keep it.

Be faithful to me
Oh God.
Be faithful to me,
Oh God.
I need You.

Not tomorrow
not the next day,
now.

Here is my fleece.

Isaac

I remember an offering, 

not to many months ago, 

where I was offered up 

to atone for your mistakes. 

Twice I was put on that metaphorical altar, 

against my own will, 

(but yet so very willingly) 

and each time there was one result. 

And I prayed to a God

who allowed me no peace, 

but only allowed the remaining truth, 

that you were not to blame. 

The second time you saw me, 

broken for a crime you committed, 

your hands were no longer clean, 

and your heart was no longer locked up. 

So we prayed for redemption

and a healing of our scars, 

and your words became beautiful, 

and your heart became honest, 

while my words became strong, 

and my heart became forgiving. 

And something emerged 

from a box we had placed our God into. 

But now the altar is prepared again, 

a third and final time, 

but this time I am not bound alone, 

we are bound together. 

We offer up

our dreams and desires, 

our hearts and our lives, 

to a God who deserves all of it. 

And we trust in our Provider, 

since he knows our very souls, 

to remain faithful 

whether a lamb appears in the the thicket or not. 

Someone Else's Prayer (3)

Jesus,

I am sure of nothing

but this: 

The fact that I am desperate

for more of your truth, 

more of your Word, 

more of all that you are. 

I need nothing but to surrender 

to your will and your ways,

But my feet hesitate, 

and my hands slip, 

over and over. 

It seems the only thing 

I never fail at, 

is failing. 

But Jesus, 

I see your faithfulness, 

as a promise, as a truth, 

and I will believe. 

Though I hesitate, fall, and fail, 

I will believe. 

Such Praise

You hold me

like a mother holds a child

like a lover holds his wife, 

and I am fine. 

I am held, and I am fine. 

With your open arms 

I feel redemption. 

With your loving-kindness 

I feel chosen. 

You are mine, and I am yours. 

And when you watch me 

fall and cry and hope and rise, 

you know I love you still. 

This heart was crafted

to love you. 

Oh, such praise I sing. 

Stronger

You are stronger

than my weakness, 

You are stronger, 

than my pride. 

And though my life 

is always led to darkness, 

You're always the light. 

You've always been the light. 

Someone Else's Prayer (2)

Jesus, I invite you
to create Your chaos,
to reek Your havoc,
until all I can do is submit.
And from the very depths
of this weary and broken heart,
I ask you to push me into the fire,
knowing You mean to refine.
Because Jesus, until now
the only person I've been trusting is me,
the only person I've been believing is me,
and the only person I've been seeking
is me.
And in this blindness,
I can see nothing else properly
so show me Your mighty hand,
teach me the ways of Your will,
and help me to praise You
for the blessings that are often unseen.
Shake me of what I think I know,
and show me what to run after.
Oh Jesus, I invite you.
I invite you.

Tag

I sat in the third seat, 

facing the curtain-covered window, 

beside a dark haired girl 

who had the same shoes as me. 

You sat in the sixth seat. 

Some simple conversation, 

and some awkward words 

echoed in my mind 

in the weeks that followed. 

Months from then, they still do. 

So many hours laboriously spent 

asking Mr. God-of-the-universe

to slow down just a little bit, 

so I could decipher you. 

So I could decipher my heart.  

Then you created and destroyed me, 

exposed and protected me, 

until you couldn't understand anymore.

Your confusion has yet to change my certainty, 

but my heart can't keep waiting. 

You're still that man, 

sitting in that sixth seat, 

but I've gotten up, 

wiped my eyes and said my prayers, 

and walked away. 

Whether or not I'm worth chasing after is really up to you.                                

                                                                                                             

Someone Else's Prayer

. . . and Jesus,
how much will I forget
before I remember you?
How much longer will I run
before I chase you?
Because this apathy is losing its appeal,
and this complacency is wearing me thin,
and the things I hide in are exposing me.
I'm a fraud in this life
where I speak as if I know
but my heart doesn't know up from down.
I'm lying to you,
convincing you that everything is fine,
when you already know how far gone I am.
If you took me now,
you wouldn't recognize me, would you?
Jesus, this heart is sick of being sick
and you're the only healer.
This is a prayer for more than just redemption,
more than just revival,
more than just healing.
This is a prayer for everything you have.

Mailroom

Infront of the mailboxes
we prayed for a will not our own,
and a strength in our bones,
that we would be unable to deny.

I squeezed my eyes so tight
as if God would believe me more that way,
and I wanted to hear a sincerity
like mine in your voice.

The hours I spent before an Almighty God
led up to a two-minute blurb,
then we parted ways
and I hoped for the best.

Little did I know
this two-minute appeal,
would be among the only ones
you would ever offer.

If you didn't want to pray, then why did you even bother?

Because

His eyes may be sorry

and his shame may be heavy,

but nothing changes.

Faith fell through the fingers

of nervous and broken hands.

Her heart may be empty

and her words may sound forgiving,

but nothing changes.

Hope was laid to rest

in a necropolis of dreams.

The only thing that changes

is the way we come to the Father,

with open mouths and weary eyes.

Asking the same question,

to a God who only has one answer.

"Why?" we ask.

Because. 

White Lies

I'm a liar of the worst variety,
deceiving with my masked eyes,
manipulating with my carefully placed words.
My mission is to fool you.

With every gaze I break,
I'm force-feeding you my apathy
so my elaborate scheme can hold some merit.
But honestly, I don't believe it myself.

The truth is in the silent prayers
that I rush up to heaven,
asking for the strength to push you away.

The truth is in the punishment
I inflict on my myself
for failing to let you go completely.

The truth is in the simple fact
that without my little white lies,
I'd have us right back where we were.

The truth is in the knowledge
that some day soon
I'll know these tactics were necessary.

I'm sorry, but we're better off this way.

Without

Slow breaths of cold water
Dripping down the back of my throat
Filling my stomach,
overflowing into my lungs.
Only one clear thought
reaching me in the panic.

Without You, this is what I am.

Translucent skin hot in the sun
No radiance this time and
No bronze sun tan,
Just pools of cells at my feet.
I search for your face,
as I hear your voice in my ears.

"Without Me, this is your eternity."

Your Love To Fall

I scream at the sky,
to bring on the rain,
in sheets and floods,
to remind me of Your love.
Oh yes, Your rain reminds me of love.
How You fall all around,
how You cover the earth,
and how you restore creation.
Your love brings life,
to the muddiest of souls,
washing away the iniquity,
falling, falling like rain.
In all my life, in every way,
I will yearn for the clouds to cover,
And for Your love to fall.