A Few Brilliant Ideas...

Providence

He knelt beside me
drawing patterns in the sand.
Fragments of a story
and I could tell there was more,
so much more that I'll never understand.

You learn to be okay with that though,
to accept people for who they are.
Especially when they're better,
better than you could ever be.

It's not that you give up on trying;
I'm still looking at all the pieces,
hoping I can fit them together.
But I also understand that if I need to know,
he'll tell me.

And honestly,
he's the only one who knows,
knows when it's time to show me.
And I put faith in the fact
that when he does
it'll all make perfect sense.

Listening

Is it possible
That you can't hear God because
You keep on speaking?

Forgotten - The Cross

I have forgotten what is most important.

----------------------------------------

My eyelids flicker open to filtered light

as shades capture the stream and redirect it to the hardwood floor,

I swing feet over hardened frame as smooth, cool textures claim

my attention in sensation as my nerves explore.

Each day begins and ends with the setting of the sun,

and each night I lay my head to rest,

and each morn I rise, and I've begun

to forget to keep an eye on whether I've regressed.

The assumption is that forward progress is always the process,

rather than the one step forward and two steps back,

and I dare to ask what if the concepts and contests,

are actually standstills, or even worse, a self-defeating contract?

Search my words and see if you can't find validity,

for it's not as if this isn't applicable to all of humanity.

And it's my not uncommon personal philosophy,

that if you get caught up with looking forward,

you'll repeat your mistakes like it's your speciality.

But I have a more specific design in mind,

and my purpose here is not to prove political parties awry,

for to be honest, I don't put stock there for society is blind,

and the world would crash and burn if God's plan was not defined.

The message I have to bring is not eloquent, but desperate,

and I bring it to the lost but my audience is you.

I realized last night, and many times in respite,

that the cross can fade from view.

This is scary.

This is wrong.

This is everything I am,

and if I'm not holding fast,

well then everything I said just simply isn't true.

But it slips on me like evening, like the sun falls from the sky,

and as day becomes the night, in the darkness I abide.

Then the signs begins to show, and the apathy will grow,

prayers will cease from cracked lips,

and eyes unaccustomed to the word of God,

at most take in a glimpse.

This is scary.
This is wrong.

This is everything I am,

but God is faithful to his children.

There's no door about to slam.

And as I grow weary in the brightest of days,

and my sense of faith, lives on purchased grace.

Just as I would slip, on slick ground, my savior catches me

and points me back.

The illumination of glory,

where life was purchased from burst veins

and light poured from the Ancient of Days.

The hill where all of creation bowed in darkness,

to the one who wrestled death and victorious rose.

A hill eclipsed in total peace and total commitment,

a lamb prepared for slaughter,

a covenant,

a sanctuary,

a king.

Physical pain wracked my savior's body,

and eyes glazed, he screamed.

His words were not of the immense pain, however,

but of that much greater.

The Almighty, The Father, The Planner, The Creator

severing from himself his child, giving up his beloved,

that those once made in his image,

might once again find themselves in his presence.

This is the image of the cross.

This is where my salvation lies.

This is where my trust is.

This is my proclamation to the world around,

and I must fight, to maintain who I am.

My identity is secure, but not something I can ignore.

So watch yourself.

Review your past.

Do not fall into the same mistakes,

but if you do, brother, sisters,

know that God will catch you

for he is gracious, and his love abounds.

Symmetry

The world is a fabric.

The human a needle,

and the patterns we sow begin

hasty,

confused,

trembling.

And as we grow older, the weave becomes

steady,

rhythmic,

and a pattern emerges from the ashes of our failed attempts.

We launch ourselves into this design,

this ancient art, rediscovered by the contemporary child.

Our application becomes non-discriminatory,

and even stories,

begin to conform,

to this aesthetic sense of order.

Each day is molded into this pattern, seeking sanctuary

in the blend of daily recreation.

But in the evolution of our ideals,

we often forget

the wavering line

is no less beautiful

than the pattern of

symmetry.

A Few Brilliant Ideas...

Providence

CONVERSATION

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Listening

CONVERSATION

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Forgotten - The Cross

CONVERSATION

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Symmetry

CONVERSATION

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