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
Proud Fruits of labors
A light in the ceiling again
Approaching an opening
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
Conscious decision in obedience
Not allowed to enter
Into this Gifted…
Most Sacred space
Where “refreshments” are being served.
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,
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.
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.
in freeze frame.
check the rearview,
to stop in time.
In a fraction of a second,
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?
One more chance to accept the gift,
One more chance?
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!!
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…
an excellent way
to EMBRACE that one more chance:)
- one more chance.wma
- (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”
(Thinking…that rotting smelly thing inside my brain)
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.
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,
That cannot be denied.
Every so often,
I become comfy,
Tell myself I can push at You,
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
Calming the stormy sea
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
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 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?”)
(“stop trying so hard, and start to listen”)
It makes no sense,
am I going crazy?
“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?”
Please stop telling me
What Jesus is and isn’t
Does and doesn’t
Especially if you have not yet heard nor seen Him
Please stop flooding me with Bible breath
When I’m already deep in training
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
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
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,
STOP TO LISTEN
HE IS ALWAYS SPEAKING TO US
JUST ALLOW HE…
TO TELL YOU…
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).
No stretch of the imagination
more of a conscious restraint
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
posed in different ways
Not all pleasantries
not all intentional…
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
Doesn’t require Royalties
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)