Let me not be satisfied
to the point of apathy, lethargy
It is the wanting that beautifies us
The longing, the dreaming
The hunger to be more
to be greater
to be filled
These are given us by God
to pull us out of ourselves
and into eternal joy
An endless pouring out
only to be replenished
This beautiful desire
for the glorious
will be fulfilled
But not yet
Not yet
How we have fallen from grace!
Our glory has been diminished
but its glimmer remains–
in our ability to love
to sacrifice
to show mercy and compassion.
The fires have been banked,
the coals barely glow amid the ash,
and they will only be rekindled
if they are once again fed
by the Source of all goodness and truth.
Then the flames will be fanned to a roar
and the light of our lost, former glory
will pour out from us
like the sun’s dawning.
Write something good today, I determined.
Something good:
like a sunset bleeding crimson and gold
over gently rolling hills of blue grass
Something good:
trees bending graceful in the wind like dancers,
like a lover bending to his beloved
Something good:
a baby’s first smile, a mother’s fierce pride
that rises so strongly and suddenly that it chokes her up
Something good:
the smell of rain on rich, dark earth
when the plants are just beginning to bloom
Don’t write of sorrow, or loss, or regret
Though those things help us love
all the somethings good
Today, take only the beauty
Only the bliss
Wrap it up in spun-silver words
Pass it on like a gift
And expect nothing in return
Give it with joy and thankfulness
And remember to fight for it
every day of your life
Resist greed and apathy,
Because something good
is worth fighting for,
Even if the battle is never-ending.
He was made man,
So that we could be made gods.
To ascend to glory
as more than mortal
The mystery of dust
becoming divine
The thought is too much,
too bright to look at directly
But stranger still
than apotheosis:
the thought that Deity
caged itself in flesh
only to be torn
and beaten, spit upon
and slain
And all along he knew
he knew!
what we would do
all in his name
How often we,
self righteous demi-gods,
would stone and scorn
the least of these
And call it holiness
Apotheosis gone wrong
Pride has turned even this
and made us into devils
dressed all in baptismal white
Love grace, seek mercy
We can still be set aright
Oh, if I could write pure poetry
Distilled seven times
So it burned on your tongue
And warmed in the pit of your stomach
And sent fire racing to your fingertips and toes
So perfectly refined it had no aftertaste
Nothing but the memory of a flavor
So exquisite
That you had to taste it again
Just thought I’d upload a few of my favorite shots from the gorgeous palace of Versailles. Click on them to see the full view. It’s worth it.
I hear the rain against my window, slow at first and tentative, like a bird tapping on the glass, seeking entry. Then it picks up and the thunder rolls slowly from the horizon, a wave of swelling sound. Come out. It was almost as if I heard the whisper audibly. I step out onto my front porch, shielded from the rain and the gusting winds. Suddenly, lightning fills the sky over and over again. I’ve never seen it like this. Hardly any pauses, each flash brighter than a midday sun. In this wild light, every leaf, every blade of grass, stands in stark relief. It’s as if my vision is miraculously perfect, and I can see every detail of the world around me, but only in flashes. Illumination, enlightenment, and then I’m plunged back into darkness.
I sit on the porch as heaven trembles and rumbles and flashes around me. Sometimes, we hear God in the still, small voice. But sometimes, he really is in the storm.
“His way is in the whirlwind and the storm, and clouds are the dust of his feet.” Nahum 1:3
