The Whisperer

This poem is about surrendering to God, which is a lesson I learn over and over, in a really good way.

The first thing to go is my sight--
my eyes are useless,
and blackness surrounds me.
The darkness engulfs me
and bores into my eyes
as strongly in as my eyes seek out.
No light to be found.
The next is my pride,
and I'm forced to my knees,
fingers grasping, anxiety rising,
until I can feel my bones.
I can feel my bones,
and I think they may be fading.
I'm in a cave and I'm fading
and my heart cries out through my mouth,
but my words, they're gone,
they've disappeared
and taken half my heart alongside them.
And my heart is broken,
literally, it seems,
right down the middle between
the words and me,
and their empty ghosts live on
in my heart
with their memories I cant remember
anymore.
And the silence engulfs me.
My hands seek flashlights
to bring them all back--
all the hopes and dreams and songs.
I grasp one in my feeble hands--
and I can feel my bones,
I think they're fading.
But I push a button and a light turns on,
so dim, so slight,
it pains my eyes,
and I think I have an answer.
And so I look for more light,
if there's any to be found.
And what I find are flashlights,
making yellow circles for my eyes,
and I can see them, for a while.
But battery life only lasts so long,
before i'm dead,
before my bones fade away.
I feel my fingers being pried slowly
from my only source of light.
But of course, what I meant was life,
because it's sustaining me. Barely.
But before I can worry
about my life draining my light,
it's gone,
and my light is smashed to pieces
by a hand I did not see coming.
One by one, my yellow spots are stripped from my grasp.
Stripped and smashed.
Stripped and smashed.
and my unseeing eyes cannot cry,
and my misplaced pride cannot lift me off the ground.
And my words,
my words cannot come back to me now.
The silent darkness haunts me again.
Oh, but I can feel.
I can feel my bones,
they've been fading for a while now,
and as strongly as I can feel them fading,
I can feel someone here.
But I'm lost and at a loss at what to do.

Tiny whispers start to work their way
up the walls and down again,
rippling across the floor
and one hits me in the foot,
but I can't hear it.
I can feel the whispers rising;
all around, I hear them gather--
creeping first like fog
to swelling like waves
with ocean white foam at the crest,
I hear.
I hear the whisper,
and it tells me of a hand to hold.
But darkness bores into these eyes of mine,
and as for hands, I can't even see my own.
Yet hopes rise,
and my bones can feel their tremble,
and I need to find my whisperer.
So limbs flail, darkness seeming bigger
than the swelling of the whispers,
until I hear, "Be still." So quietly,
I cannot be sure.
But I cannot find anything this way.
Still louder, Be Still
So I stop. I stop all.
My bones may be fading,
but I hold out my hand
and the whisperer tells
as the whispers still swell,
"I found you."
And as my hand waits,
fingers begin to entwine,
and light like new life
begins to unwind and unveil
and spin and spiral,
until not just mere spots appear,
but I've never seen before now.
and my whisperer, he speaks into me as I stand,
"I won't ever stop finding our open hand."
Words and promises roll over me,
through every pore in my skin.
I am whole, I am ready,
I can see once again.

The Storm

I have seen a storm
that ignites--the spark
in my eye
and makes my blood. pound.
in. anticipation.
A wind-whipping, tree shaking,
God-empowered storm
where you stand
      beneath
a grief stricken sky
and your tears run red
for everything you couldn't stop.
and yet,
the power of the storm
demands every emotion
uncompromisingly, without yield,
knowing that in the storm,
God reigns.

Pyromaniac

I am a pyromaniac--
I'll set us on fire,
just to watch it all burn,
and I'll smile to myself.
My path is devastatingly haunted
by the wake of a hurricane of insecurity,
and the aftermath of a forest fire,
set by my tongue.

I sit surrounded by the destruction I made,
and I run my fingers through the past,
combing through,
certain of the uncertainty of finding anything worth holding,
if I could,
if the ashes weren't caught in me,
choking me,
making me unable to breathe.

I watch my history in scenes rewinding,
I see my screenplay burning
before my eyes, dry from heat and ash.

But my Lord cannot bear to hold my sin,
he cannot hold to see,
and so he sent his beloved son to hold,
his beloved son to see,
his beloved son to become,
and even now in me
he sifts to find
a remnant to be beautiful again.

He will rake beauty out of the scenes I burned,
out of the buildings and bridges I burned to dust;
he will sift beauty from the pile of ashes I left,
and quench the fire of my tonge.
He will create life within me over and over,
and death will not set fire to my bones and skin;
it will have no hold on my heart,
and my eyes on fire will water ashen cheeks
until a remnant of beauty grows in life once again.

Redemption and restoration are held out to me,
and though I know I am rotting away,
burning slowly in my own ash,
I find that my name is being called,
and my hand is being drawn,
and my hope is rising.
So I reach out,
and when my fingers touch the edge of His cloak,
the decay of my heart falls away,
and the ash that became a part of my blood
turns over and fades;
and so from the ashes I created,
I am given the beauty He made.

When I was Small: a poem of my testimony to Jesus Christ

When I was Small

When I was small,
and my heart was open wide
to love and all it had to offer,
I heard of a love that died for me
and rose again to make me whole,
that I might never feel unloved.
and so I sat cross-legged on a pink covered bed,
and knew this love,
this love could not be beaten—
and welcomed in a Savior
to fill me once and for all.

When I was small
I then knew to do right,
because of what was done for me,
and how my Savior lived.
and so I did right
until it became who I was.
and no one knew that I was loved,
mostly because I never told them
that they were loved too.
so while I hid behind invisible barricades of doing right,
it was held against even me
that I forgot my First Love.

Yet when I was small,
I saw Him wherever I went,
and I did not want to escape;
in the sorrows of loneliness
I looked around a playground
and saw no friends.
But I saw Him there on a blue swing set,
for though I had forgotten his love,
he remained, remaining in me.

So when I was small still,
I remembered my love,
and how He ransomed me from Death himself,
and had told me to come after him,
promising beauty.
and staying where I was,
afraid of finding that Beauty might look
different than beauty,
I had not moved, yet lost my way.

But when I was small,
what I discovered under the cover of a printed book
was that I could be like Him,
and He lit my life on fire.
And I yearned to burn so brightly for Him my Savior.
I searched and sought, and found him
wherever I went,
and kept dangerously quiet.

And so when I was small,
there was a lack of noise,
and slowly it became filled with voices
that whispered that I was alone—not quite,
but nearly alone,
and I saw what they called love,
and what I could do to get it,
so I tried (to be myself?)
and tried. (to be someone else)
and tried. (and failed)
somewhere, I knew that God was there,
and he had someone for me to be,
if I would just be with him,
but at moments it was said of even me,
that I forgot my First Love.

When I was small,
he began to refine me, for he did not forget.
through fires of truth,
lies burned away,
revealing something underneath I never knew could be there,
and I could dance.
I could move my feet, and I could dance.
The shackles melted away like wax,
lies that told me to compare
and pull out hairs on my head
until I had the same number as everyone else.
and my feet moved to the rhythm of freedom
and the melody of grace.

When I was small,
he continued to refine me
and I found that my lips were burned
with a holy fire and I could smile
with the light of sunshine on snow, full of joy,
until the world around me knew
that the One who Loved,
loved in me,
and I continued seeking, seeking

and I learned I was small, so small,
and he spoke to me and said:
“They will be called the Holy People;
The Redeemed of the Lord.
And you will be called Sought After;
the City No Longer Deserted.”
And I knew from the beginning,
it was not my small seeking that mattered,
but the one that sought me out
when I had turned again and again,
and he had not stopped seeking
and he will not stop seeking.

And then, when I was small, he told me to speak,
and I said, Lord, but I’m afraid.
And he reminded me of
when I was small,
and how he had been there, all along,
and gave me sweet sustenance
and whispered love songs
in the midst of bitter winds,
so I spoke,
and I will keep on speaking.

And when I am small,
I know he will be with me,
for he has never let me down.
And he will forever be my Love,
my First Love, my True Love,
and no one will say I forgot.
and momentary darkness may come
intimidating with noises and echoes of despair,
but I will cling to Him with any might I have,
for they are nothing when I am with Him.
For he is great,
when I am small.

On the Floor

Sitting in a big stone room,
I watch and wait for something
to come and tell me my future.
I wait for the heavens to open
and for God to tell me
my dreams will all come true.
But instead all I heard
was the voice that said "Die
to yourself and give your heart to me."
Stunned, I sat back,
and tried to excuse myself
from beng uncomfortable.
But then I knew, what I really had to do.
So I start pulling a never ending string
from my heart of joys and pains
I never knew were there
and dumping them on the floor,
and I'm afraid that if I pull too much longer
my heart will break.
But I keep pulling,
and You surround me when I'm broken.
so You met me there
when I was broken on the floor
and pulled and pushed together
all of the directions I wanted to run.
And I found that in the quiet,
all that I had within me was a song
so I sang
with my arms lifted high
and I could feel my heart moving up
into my fingertips until an empty mess
rested in the palms of my hands,
and I asked you to take it.
take it.
take it.
and make it new, redeemed, healed,
burning, and I can feel it burning,
my chest is being ripped apart.
I can see it, my heart,
the way it was meant to be.
Glowing, on fire,
free.

Perch

Perch
My heart perches on the edge of a couch,
uncomfortable with silence
desperately wanting to be filled,
So my heart sighs, and leans back just a little,
resting in moments passed and already gone,
until I am restless and anxious,
resting in stagnation,
until I can’t breathe,
and every atom within me longs to fly.
When I look down, my eyes are opened
to everything in motion all around me and in me
I realize that I’m already flying
on wings that are absolutely divine
so I perch now on the edge of a cliff.
toes curled and knees bent, anticipating
and jump off the edge in to beautiful exhilaration
and I’m alive again.
I think I forgot what it felt like to breathe
in Love in every breath,
but I have tasted what I have not seen,
and I’ll long for more and more.
like an addict never satisfied,
I’ll give more than I have.
They’ll call me crazy, but I know
what waits for me
after I’m done waiting for everything
and jump off my perch in a tree,
just a small twig
that couldn’t have been comfortable
except that I knew it was there,
waiting to break.
But I think I forgot what it felt like
to hear freedom in branches breaking
and crashing down below me
as everything I’ve ever done is left
falling with the weight of insecurity
and slipping away with guilt that kept
its slimy fingers clamped around my throat.
and when I find that I have a voice,
it cries out Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
I will praise the One who saves
all of my days,
Hallelujah all of my days.

Facade of Ages

It's days like these,
the cloudy ones
where the wind blows through my sweater
and makes me shiver, but maybe
not from the cold.
The world holds us down,
pinned under the weight of a thousand pains.
This town tells us to stay.
And we know that if we could,
we would all just run away.
It's days like these where I can
See it in the streets,
reflecting in the windows of the shops,
not meeting my eye,
in the wooden pew,
in the other room.
Facades like a giant masquerade,
smiling, happy faces,
covering wretched grimaces of broken love,
just trying to escape.
And I can see,
we all just want to run away.
To where will you run?
In what corner of this dark world
will you take your final comfort?
In the midst of thunder, lightning, winds
that rush around me,
in the face of the Facade of Ages,
I feel whispered lies, spoken
so gently into my ear, so sweetly
I'm sick, broken, on the floor.
Yet it will be Love that holds me here,
Love that turns my determined countenance
to the storm, set in stone,
rooted and unmoved.
It will be Love like magnets
that draws my broken pieces back together,
moving in fast forward
to the silhouette of a killing cross,
on which the Son of Man suffered
for Everlasting Love
until I'm whole,
until Love's arms are the only thing I can find
into which to run.