Walk in the Woods
Abstract: So Says Jesus
A poem, about feeling isolated and anxious, but knowing my heritage is Heaven.
Today is one of the days,
when no purpose or journey looks worthy of the required sacrifices,
Conversely, crying alone in the corner is no viable option,
not for a human of such fine quality and talent…
Oh no, I am not allowed to fail.
Not allowed to feel self-pity or confusion.
Not allowed to ask questions or work through the nast’ness of faith,
Certainly can’t be afraid or tremble…
My solace, my refuge at this moment, is Jesus.
On this day, when my life feels like a bag of shit,
I recite the opening lines of Jesus’ mountainside chat:
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for their’s is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
I sit and type, and search for a way out of this fog,
and as disconnected as I feel,
I receive that love, that promise of heritage and grace.
When I am anxious, scared, and cut off,
my gift is Heaven.
When I cry, He will comfort me.
So says Jesus.
Abstract: Unashamed
I finished my drink and looked around the dingy room,
unashamed of my naked state,
or the blood beneath me.
God is good,
and pain is not the end.
The old man at the back injected his twisted wisdom,
get over it he shouted,
the noise caused boys at the pool table to watch the commotion.
Then, the news spreads through their ranks.
How long did they date?
When did they break up?
Under their breath they murmured the same condemnation as the old man.
In my shame I dropped my head, and repeated their judgment to myself.
Eventually, I moved to the corner, out of sight from the old man,
and out of earshot of the boys near the bar.
In the darkness, I pleaded my case to the Lord,
Take these hopes from me.
I let go.
It’s finished.
‘felt like a vain exercise.
After months of frustration,
The Holy One sat beside me,
as I cried,
more tears for a woman I’d rather forget.
She smiled at me,
and placed her hand gently on my back.
And when I stopped long enough to listen,
she whispered:
My son, my sweet man,
if you ever wondered if you knew how to love,
should those lies ever attack you again,
think on this…and her.
You loved deeply, freely, and without regret,
even when it went unreturned.
This is how I love you and everyone in this room.
All the years you spent learning at My feet,
asking Me to enlarge your heart,
were fruitful,
and I will multiply it.
The men in this bar,
they need you.
Behind every jeer,
is their fear,
to go to the depths,
to be vulnerable,
to let their hearts bleed in the open.
They must know,
no wound it too great for My hands,
to those willing to let me touch the pain.
Tell your story,
show them your scars,
your whole heart,
healed as it is.
My treasure,
My Love,
My son.
I finished my drink and looked around the dingy room,
unashamed of my naked state,
or the blood beneath me.
God is good,
and pain is not the end.
Abstract: It’s Been A While
A poem about my desire to write again and the freedom it held.
This pages waited, unedited and old,
without much attention from their master.
I confess my negligence and promise my repentance, an act made true,
with each keystroke.
The fury of the last four months- glory and all- pulled me from the loves that carried me to them:
expression, authoring, and naked truth-telling.
I refuse to let go of my lover and friend: Lady Goodwords.
She was good to me and gave me a home.
It was here, on my island of internet,
I poured my heart out to the few who dared to read it.
Clunky and unschooled,
I pushed past embarrassment and convention to say something, anything,
as long as it was true.
And now, I linger in the doorway,
hand on the post,
longing to be let back in.
I crave these solitary fields, my hideaway,
where I type what’s in my heart to type,
and press ‘DONE’ without hesitation.
Abstract: His Lost Sheep
A poem about the atheist journey, the lies they believe, and the hope of their return.
I can see it in his smile,
a coerced smile meant to hide his shame.
He crossed over, to the land of nothing.
It’s a common trek of the hurting ex-Christian,
the path from Jesus to no-Jesus,
from jarring pain to the embrace of vast emptiness.
Except, it’s not nothing.
Though they surround themselves with science and facts,
the truth is hope and faith come at a price: grit and unmet expectation.
Life is easier when it’s a series of random events,
and evolutionary impulses,
and much more difficult when God doesn’t respond to our noble demands.
Most of them tried Faith.
They read the Bible and prayed the prayers,
then waited on Him to reply.
They spent nights hoping and wishing for His glory to be revealed,
so…I understand their perspective, I’ve been in their shoes too.
My heart breaks for my friends who turned atheists,
they aren’t as free as they claim.
They believe in nothing and it shows:
No children,
no hope,
nothing to live for beyond their own self-righteous glory.
There’s no such thing as the moral and noble atheist,
just people who believe lies about Who loves them.
It’s fucking sad.
I have no answers,
save the One.
Him, a real encounter with the Lover of their souls.
Whatever despair I feel,
He’s not moved.
His heart is forever unchanged,
and His song stays the same.
He Loves Them.
Oh, How He Loves Them.
The lost sheep of Jesus.
I pray He finds them, soon.
Abstract: Risk Is Where It’s At
A poem about how security is a trap. Faith is about risk and dependence on the Lord.
It feels safe,
to sit on the old front porch,
watching the world pass us by.
It feels secure,
to collect the check from the man,
our fate in his hands.
We love the predictable nature,
of stocked super market shelves,
and the paved roads that lead us there.
In all our safety,
there is no wonder, no faith,
and little gained.
We were made to move,
to explore,
to risk- for this is the essence of faith.
How can we trust Him,
if the lives we live require little dependence?
Greatness comes from the ability to push beyond comfort,
through fear and anxiety, to the horizon without definition.
The Father said “this is my beloved Son, in whom I am pleased.”
It wasn’t because Jesus was perfect or exuded confidence,
but rather, Jesus risked the most.
May we be like Him.
Abstract: The Power of Our Story
A poem about the power of our testimony, especially in the midst of our storms.
Write it down,
and frame it in your heart.
The moments when the Lord is good,
and His glory is evident in your life.
The time will come when the thief comes to steal your joy,
and remind you how shitty life can be.
Without His words,
and our testimony,
we can begin to slip and lose belief.
Words are power,
and none are more powerful than to recite what He’s done for you.
Because the day will come,
when the tension is high,
and waves break against you,
But you will have His grace in your heart,
as you remember,
You are not alone, and He is good.
Abstract: Winning and Losing
A poem about the paradox of the Kingdom.
What if fighting leads to losing,
and the only goal to fail last?
And, what if letting go- of suffering, anger, and shame,
is the path to victory and peace?
I’m not sure, but I’m done being angry,
done losing,
done swinging at the darkness,
with no goal in mind.
Abstract: Culture and Community
A poem about the nobility of community and culture, and our need for Him.
Culture can be a wonderful shield,
to block misunderstanding,
and unite its followers.
Community is the warm blanket,
comforting us through our dark moments.
These are good and noble aspects of life,
and necessary to create a happy existence.
Neither, however, is a substitute for purpose,
for self-respect,
or Him.
All the feels and insulation will never compensate for the need to be loved,
through shame and doubt,
away from sin and toward the His light.
It is who we are when we are alone,
without community,
where culture is exposed,
this is what matters most.
We can run from the community,
and naviagte culture,
But He, He is always with us.
When the community deserts us,
He never leaves.
When culture turns on us,
He never will.
He is who is,
so we are eternally who He says we are.
Abstract: Good Tired
A poem about knowing you’ve had a good day, and are ready for the night.
There’s an exhaustion that comes,
only when the day is won,
it’s a moment of satisfaction.
It’s that good tired,
when your soul is content,
and your body is ready to rest.
Abstract: Freedom To Do
A poem about what freedom is.
Freedom is often interpreted as the use of power,
but it also the ability to sit while the room rages.
Liberty is a state of being we gift to one another,
through laws- written and unwritten.
It doesn’t judge or regulate,
but only asks “what’s good for this person?”
The old writings say “Where I am, there is liberty,”
and peace, and love, and kindness, and shakes, and laughter.
Seems like He is no liar.
The Hand of God placed on our heart may stir us to any number of reactions.
Let it be so,
and let each go in the way they should, for His liberty’s sake.
Abstract: The Traveler
A poem about letting go of burdens.
The traveler walked the dusty road,
from the village to the sea.
Though the ocean was in his heart,
he couldn’t help but notice the unprepared people he shuffled by.
As the route turned through the trees,
he bent to pick up sticks,
and fallen fruit,
and leaves for the wiping.
Soon his back became heavy with the burden he dared to bear,
as his focus shifted to others rather than the sea.
His feet slowed to an amble,
his vision clouded by those too broken to continue the hike,
and the ones far from the trail.
He beckoned them onward,
with an open hand and a generous disposition,
but they refused to move,
mainly because he had stopped moving too.
His heart now mimicked his back,
and it began to break.
Then, the air caught his nose,
and the salty ocean reminded him of the reason for the journey.
After a second to consider the affair,
he dropped all his supplies,
the weight around his heart,
and ran toward the Deep.
Abstract: 20 Years Ago
A poem about America, 20 years after 9/11.
Bin Laden won,
his prophecy fulfilled.
America is full of fear,
from coast to coast.
We fear immigrants and trans activists,
anti-vaxxers and gun owners.
The media stirs the pot,
two puppets of the same master,
his plan on display though often ignored.
But, this is not our fate,
just the midnight moment,
when all seems dark.
I believe in another prophecy,
utter by a madman,
and forgotten by the masses.
America will be full of faith,
from seas to shining sea,
regardless of Faith.
We will risk everything for love,
and for each other.
For what is freedom without love,
what is equality without freedom,
and what is a government that does not protect its people?
Yes, Bin Laden’s master won the battle,
but my Lord will win the war.