FLOODS Into Thresholds

The room rapidly filled with water
And it was all that could be done
To tread it and keep a head above
Kicking away the floating debris
That seemed to choke and smother me
The accumulated comforts artificial
Furnishings…once desired
Proud Fruits of labors
Possessions inanimate…encumbering
A light in the ceiling again
Approaching an opening
Climbing through
The portal seals behind me
My breath echoes tranquility
Resonates in this fresh new empty space
Free to come and go
Upon every return
Bring something else with me
Decade upon decades
The cycle repeats
Strife, pain, loss
Slow to seeing loss as gain
The empty room…
In the center
To bow, kneel and pray
Everything needed unseen
Abundant divine provision
More than sufficient
Here now to stay
Free to come and go as always
Taking what has been given to those who would hear
But leaving at the doorstep
A “Now”…
Conscious decision in obedience
Not allowed to enter
Into this Gifted…
Most Sacred space
 Where “refreshments” are being served.


“if people destroy something made by man they are called vandals. if they destroy something made by GOD they are called developers”

God Bless


One More Chance (w/audio)

is it something you say,
something you write,
something you do?”Giver”
“Gifting”Something that lives in you?So many things are easy to say.
Easy to read.

The passive wait for the catalyst,
ride upon the wave,
of consensus.

Driving down the road multi-tasking,
tuning the radio,
adjusting the mirror,
cell phone rings,
not noticing the vehicle ahead braking hard.

Horrified in the instant of realization,
thoughts of running late for work,
the spat you had before you left home,
the last angry words exchanged,
in the slamming of a door!


Say things you didn’t really mean.

too proud…

too late…

to take it back?

In your haste forgot to buckle up,
body surging forward,
steering wheel pressed tightly against your sternum,
windshield so close,
face of a child,
staring back at you,
from the back,
of a family van.

If only…

This instant,
this now,
in freeze frame.
Look left,
look right,
check the rearview,
what options?
to attempt
to stop in time.

In a fraction of a second,
thoughts racing,
pondered unforgiveness,
flashing through your mind.
Playing out what you would say,
if given one more chance?
To tell someone you love them,
you forgive them,
Say your sorry,
please forgive me?
So horrified.
so sorry…

One more chance to accept the gift,
of Salvation.

One more chance?
(brakes screeching)

One more chance?
(smell of rubber burning)

One more chance?
(coil, leaf springs groaning)

One more chance?

coffee spilling, papers flying, front bumper dipping, brakelights blaring, heart pounding, pulse quickening…stars colliding, universe exploding, overloading, how many cries in a nano second can scream…
from out of one mind!!

















in the…“now
that never passes away”you experienced…”KAIROS TIME…”
(moment of truth)

…the hard way!
in the way shown to me,
the only way known to me,
to illustrate how…

to enter

excellent days

an excellent way

to EMBRACE that one more chance:)

(please forgive me for the harrowing ride.)
one more chance.wma Delete
(2.4 Mb) Downloaded 14 times


“if people destroy something made by man they are called vandals. if they destroy something made by GOD they are called developers”

God Bless


Small In A Great Journey

(Thinking…that rotting smelly thing inside my brain)

Lord and lamb

Sometimes when I’m on my laptop and have multiple pages open at once, the cooling fan kicks on and the p.c. slows down. The more virtual memory being used and memory stored begins to have an adverse effect on performance. So at these times I’ll start to close pages I’m not really using or which are no longer a priority. As I start to do this oft’ times I proceed to just close everything down and allow the machine to rest and cool and reset.

This often leads to closing the laptop altogether and meditating on this analogy of a time to rest and reassess priorities taking it into prayer life.

Begin to shut down certain thoughts running through my mind like autonomous background programs that really are subconscious commands we are unknowingly hitting the keys to keep running.

In this emptying process…the first thing that begins to rise to the surface is breathing, hearing my breath, becoming aware of a cool breeze and a gentle kiss of wind, so I begin to thirst head outdoors and am greeted by these things and more, like bird songs.

Like my machine, I become aware of a need to restart…to collect and gather my thoughts and prioritize. To defragment the accumulated collected files and condense. And I think of rain, of mists, of evaporation, how clouds collect and store move on and rain down once more. I think of my mind as a sponge being saturated and if not squeezed and drained will collect mold. Then I smell lemons in my mind as if I’m actually breathing in their scent and it is refreshing. Then I close my eyes and begin to empty…thinking of nothing, being nowhere, having nothing, owning nothing but that which is gifted right now, here in the present. There are no riches beyond this place in the “now”. Giving thanks and praise…the cup is being filled, the overflow is this which you are now reading.

I barely perceive that I have left myself…to be with YOU, till I return to thinking.

And experience that unmistakable separation anxiety from YOU as I become engrossed in the clicking and whirring of machinery by “preoccupations” once more.

Yes, become “Small..?” Save for one single, reflexive, devotional, conscious action of obedience having knealt and bowed, unconsciously grown tall.

 you are here

The Thug, The Saint, The Seeker, A Most Reluctant Restraint

exhausted dog

I just don’t quite get it,

At least most times not until after i’ve taken it too far

and sometimes question if I’ve stopped before going far enough

Perhaps I never will..”get it”.

Though I try,

I’ve come to know,

Something inside,

That cannot be denied.

Every so often,

I become comfy,

Tell myself I can push at You,

Imagine that…

What arrogance!

As if I could move You.

But You never budge,

And the only thing moving,

Is I backing away from You.

The harder I push,

The greater the distance.

Emblazoning upon my own conscience,

a path of least resistance

a path that leads to troubles.

The pent up force

The right wire cut

The bomb disarmed

The spring uncoiled

The wicked thought foiled

The tension relaxed

The breath free and easy

The pause of misdirected will

The voice that says “be still”

Knowing the bent to which we are prone

Stopping to meditate upon You Who Are God Alone

Rest in Your peace

Flooded in your embrace

Watch what was set in motion



And cease

Calming the stormy sea

Humbly reminded…

Of a proper place

Double time to get back to grounds lost

Having been temporarily blown off course

And here You come behind me…

mopping up my mess

Tsk…Tsk…Shaking Your Head

Me ignoring all the caution signs

of the folly once more

going to the nth degree of putting others to the test

Fall and break a leg on the wet floor

But there is a bright side to all this

to look forward to with joy

When I can no longer walk on my own

Poppa picks me up and holds me close to His chest

while I heal..and knit and rest

I can once again re-attune

Hear Your Heart beat

and hide myself in Your Breadth

Lord and lamb

Hello it’s Me…



Oh hi, at the last minute I decided it might be good to take you up on your invitation to church.

Thought I knew the way, but it seems now that I am lost.

(“can you tell me where you are right now?”)

Wish I could but it seems that I am passing side streets without signs in the middle of nowhere right now.

(“hello…hello…seems that he dropped the call”)

Hello…hello…he must’ve hung up on me, well I would have hung up on me too!

Seems like I can’t stay connected no matter how hard I try.

There’s a scarecrow, there are rows of corn as far as the eye can see and circling crows.

I’m somewhere, still moving along, aimlessly till something familiar jumps out at me…hopefully?

Passing crosses alongside this road,

Still searching for church.

And this voice…

This voice…

This soft voice,

Keeps trying to tell me something,

Something I can’t seem to understand.

Something that seems to make no sense at all to me.

Though gentle, it is persistent,


(“Why seek ye’ after a church, when ye’ have yet to find me?”)


I’m trying…


(“stop trying so hard, and start to listen”)


No sense…

It makes no sense,

To me

am I going crazy?

Luke 24:5

And as they were afraid, and bowed down their faces to the earth, they said unto them, Why seek ye the living among the dead?”

Blood Suckers

“(6) As ye have therefore received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk ye in him: (7) Rooted and built up in him, and stablished in the faith, as ye have been taught, abounding therein with thanksgiving. (8) Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ. (9) For in him dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily. (10) And ye are complete in him, which is the head of all principality and power:”


Please stop telling me

What Jesus is and isn’t

Does and doesn’t

sound like…

look like…

Especially if you have not yet heard nor seen Him

Please stop flooding me with Bible breath

When I’m already deep in training

perpetually straining…

to get past ambient noises

to hear the Author

He humbly, graciously, condescends to incline an ear

While the all too well intentioned deaf

Keep blubbering, bombast, nervously

boisterously, breaking awkward silences out-loud,

blessed pauses of reflections

claimed by fears

unable to distinguish whispers from screams

Urgency of agendas unclear

Leave me to be, to hear, to see

Failings are plentiful

Pains forthcoming

Trials abundant

Consequences unavoidable

Yet HE has never once failed me

Don’t paint your Jesus on me

As you see Him

Let my Jesus be my Jesus

As He Has revealed Himself to me

Where I was


And have yet to be

Let a Craftsman craft

Let a Potter spin

Let a whittler whittle

Let a glass maker breathe

let a poet “Poe”

Stop telling me about your imagined Jesus

The one you’ve limited

And let me Love the Jesus

That lived



Went way out of His Way

Ventured into unspeakable filth and depravity

To bear the load of me

upon HIS own shoulders 

To find me… 

And show me His Way 

And set me free 


I beg of you, 

Just pause… 





OF HIM (Directly)

HE will not disappoint! 

You have not been listening…

How can you if you’re so busy

With the everyday buzzing busy business of things,

given greater priority? 

Stop telling me…

Of your “particular” Jesus’, 



until you’ve swatted the ticklers swarming around your own ears.


“Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for it is now that God favors what you do” (Ecclesiastes 9:7).

A Beautiful Mess

beautiful mess

No stretch of the imagination

more of a conscious restraint

this palette

this canvas

this easel

upon which heart and mind paint


it’s like a psalm of David accompanied by lute


an accordion lazily slinking down an endless stairway

Or bagpipes accidentally stepped on

Altogether at times a clashing melodious staccato cacophony

* “a beautiful mess” *

reflections, introspections, inverted, redirected, projected…

Rising to the surface of a swift stream

grasping what is needed

to be worked out

or worked on

set on a work table

Allowing the remainder to pass by or sink

thoughts don’t go away

only recycle

same questions

posed in different ways

Not all pleasantries

not all intentional…

those vaguaries

Just musings…

shooting stars whizzing by a mind’s eye

majestic wild horses with flowing manes

thundering across a big country’s mental planes

Even if it were possible to capture them all what then?

A work in progress…

fail or succeed

in thoughts works deeds

comforted in the knowledge of being held in existence

By a God who loves, writes, is eternally Faithful

constantly publishing…

Doesn’t require Royalties

Is sovereign

New Works Freely Given

Always on the bestseller’s list

Divine Author of The Greatest Story Ever Told

Glory be to God

(love letter in bold)