poems

When Will We Get There, My Lord?

The valley…

It’s been long and painful for myself and a good deal of people around me right now. People that I love dearly. Not to sound bleak or depressing, because there are glimpses of light here and there. And I know all of life’s seasons won’t be as trying as this one.

But, damn.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a poem during perhaps my biggest crisis of faith thus far. One day, I’ll be able (and allowed) to share so much more with whoever reads these things, but for now… for now, a glimpse into the desperate recesses of my heart.

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A thousand times and then some more, my soul gives out and You carry it across these deserts and through scorched valleys. 

When will we come to water, my Lord?

These glimpses feel like mirages dried up like the dust, and just as the dust forms spinning cones, so my head is a storm. And when the storm comes through, it levels my heart and all of it’s towers. I have more than one  tower of Babel, my Lord. But of course, you know it to be so. 

Sure, I’ve asked You to make it new, but never I imagined it to be such an occasion as this. What a devastation to the actual soul that sits in my bones somewhere between my spirit and my flesh. 

This is far too much to bare, and just like my towers, You know this to be true as well. Which is why You stand waiting for the candle’s flame to die out. For You scoop up the ashes, as black and lifeless as they are, and You carry them with your hands across the land of death and into a new place, a place I’ve not been before. 

When will we get there, my Lord?

March Writing Challenge Day 7: That Damned Wrong Side of the Bed

Failure and I meet again in this place

Even now it seems I’m failing as I fill up this blank paper’s space

I have no idea what day it is

And I don’t really even care

This day has my permission to be over now

Tired of being caught in the devil’s snare

I call myself a creative writer

But I can tell by her passive look

That on her college degree standards

She’d scoff if I told her I’d like to write a book

And then sometimes I can literally just be breathing

And someone’s gonna find fault in that

Angry, bitter, jealous little liars

Enemies I feel I must combat

I fail and fail over and over again

Try to set my own bones, hoping for just one small win

I insist, most days, that I do this on my own

Hence the perpetual failures

I’m like a plant that refuses to grow

On days like today I find myself hating my sin condition

Which means on all the other days

I ‘m too loud and too proud to listen

I go on thinking that I’m all right, I’ve got it together

Which urges me to condemn my fellow soldier

And right through that gracious love I sever

Cut in half the gift I didn’t deserve

Well, if I refuse to take it

Why would I ever give it to her

This is so filthy

Downright shameful to even share

But I’ll make myself share it anyway

And in doing so lay that shame bare

I don’t feel much better

In fact, I’m more exhausted than before

I need you so deeply, Jesus

Remind me of your love once more.

March Writing Challenge Day 1: Start

March Writing Challenge

Groggy Eyes, tired heart

The morning light calls me

It’s time to start. 

Cloudy thoughts, weary bones

The seeds of a quitter

I have often sewn. 

Disregarding the past

A new day breaks the dawn

Push myself up, and out

It’s time to move on.

Failure is essential

She is the mother of new starts

Why, then, does it kill me

Why must it tire so my heart?

No matter, I suppose

Because grace so vastly abounds

If my maker bestows second chances

Then right here, right now

A new song resounds.