Archive for September, 2012
Summertime blankets us with woolen heat.
We climb into fall like a cold, bedsheet
Till winter chills our skin with bitter sleet
Then cedes to spring to resurrect from grief.
Throughout the seasons our bodies decay,
But take heart! We are renewed, day by day:
Mornings–blank pages–we can fill with joy,
Or slates we can scratch simply to annoy.
The choice is ours, the seasons never stop,
Believe or grieve; that’s the one choice we’ve got.
Bending down, he wounded me.
I stored his wrath and mine
In the innermost parts of my mind.
I made it me and let my sins define
My works, drives, hurts, and designs.
Without God, I worked for me
And the prince of the air.
I thought the world unjust and unfair;
I waged a war to win my share.
No one else mattered; I didn’t care.
It was all about me,
But God, by love intervened,
Reached down with a hand unseen
And rolled away the stone and redeemed
A heart dead and emotionally reamed.
From sin by love into life, God
Made flesh what once was dead
Like Christ, resurrected.
He raised me up, and I rose from bed––
No longer a slave to sin but Christ my head,
And it was all God.
But not just for my good did he raise me such
But for more, much:
To have a place in heaven to rest, without hurts or crutch,
To be near Him, at His right, to hold and touch.
And it was all God.
He gave me faith in something I couldn’t see.
In His grace and tender mercies,
He gave; I cannot boast in me.
But in my LORD, my God.
It was all ordained unto good deeds,
Not works to justify me
But for God and His glory.
Now His plan unfolds to eternity
To work for my holy, holy God.
Bees and ants don’t get angry when they work:
Tell their bosses off for being a jerk.
And flowers don’t complain at the cool rains
Or lift their heads to find someone to blame
For the sun’s blaring haze.
We men and women toil with our trades
Spin our minds on all the plans we’ve made–
All to gain then withdraw to repose in the shade
With a Chardonnay or a book by Hemingway.
Perhaps there’s more to gain than this trivial end
A person to work for, a worthwhile friend.
His glory is greater than any sum, sip, or read
His love satisfies our every need.
When we lay down our all for Him,
He covers a multitude of sins.
When our eyes mist:
Over all we’ve missed,
That we’ve been wronged and dised,
And what love is:
Sent from bliss
To an abject earthiness;
Preached to free His
Only to be betrayed with a kiss,
And hung by us on a crucifix.
What sort of love is this?
An unmerited gift.
So let’s share in this:
God’s grace and forgiveness
That saved us from hell’s abyss
And the demons’, hot and heartless,
Friends, there is
No greater love–no thing greater than . . .
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