David W. Ballard: Professional Writer specializing in Web content writing, copywriting, feature writing, fiction writing, and poetry.

Who Is God?

Who Is God?

God is tears in the dishwater
When you’re doubled over with hurt.
God is trauma in a wheelchair
Crippled from a war
No one else will serve.
God is aching feet
When there’s no other way to work.
God is blisters and callouses
When those who can won’t dig.
God is for those who know they’re small,
And He is really big.
God is in the details, each and everyone.
God is love to spread till the sun flames out,
And we’re no longer having fun.
God is Spirit who draws us with the fragrance
Of His peace.
God is Son who shook the gates of hell
With a love that gave release.
God is God whose love and grace
Sent me to my knees.

King Me!

We play checkers, and He plays chess.
We hold our back line, keeping our emotions close to our chests.
We parry with our front pieces to avoid getting jumped.
He lets us pass unscathed, making us stumped.
“He let me by without taking my man!”
Move after move, he lets each of our checkers reach to the end.
We gain king after king until there’re no single men.
In a rush of pride, we boast, “Now I can win!”
But then the changeling Lord shows who’s the true Master.
We learn his game is really chess, here and hereafter.
So each king wilts and dies in the headline’s of yesterday’s paper,
Every year falling, faster and faster.
Learning too late their lives’ grave disaster.
Their epitaphs should have but one thing to say.
“We should’ve learned from the King how to really play.”

Something More To Say

We went out to the soccer fields that day,
And I’ve always wished I’d had something more to say,
More than just, “It’s going to be OK.”
But I was still hurting from broken places
Caused by the same familiar faces.
If it makes you feel any better,
We’ve been through the stormy weather
And are still here to recall the past
And know that the pain doesn’t last
And that God has used what we’ve been through
To point others to Him, and it’s not about me or you,
But His great plan and what He’s going to do.

Men of the Flag

They bear red stripes
In the darkest nights,
Wear the white bars
To offer peace afar,
Sail the blue seas
To fight our enemies,
Keep watch over us
Like the stars that cover us,
Give us life and liberty,
Pour sweat with integrity,
And lay down their lives for us:
There’s no greater love than this.

What Do Babies See?

Do infants see angels–
Is that why they smile
When they search the room
With their wandering eyes?
Surely they see something
We cannot fathom,
Like the face of God
And the Second Adam.

Shine Like A Star

God allowed this wrong
Because he knew you could carry on;
That inside you are strong.

Sometimes, in life we feel pain,
And ask questions and complain.
Still nothing seems to explain
Why our lives turned out this way.

But when you are ready, you will find
That your pain and the hard times
Are a gift from God, just for you
To shape you.

And to show you who you are
And just how far
You can reach, which is farther than a star
Shining brightly, down on someone else
Who is just where you are.

In Upper and Lower Case

As he sleeps, I see his dreams on his face.
Each pain forms a misshapen place
So I rub his back back that we might erase
Pains from the past in upper and lower case.

Do You Really Love Me?

The path’s growing so much narrower.
In the dark under a full moon’s light, I trip.
Now I’m in the mud with wet socks and muddy shoes.
I gaze ahead into the thin, bitter woods.
Perhaps, I belong there, I think, among the wild.
I deserve no better, right?
But He calls to me in my guilt and despair.
“Come back. I was only testing you.
Do you love Me? Do you love Me?
Do you really love Me?”
I turn away and look back into the inviting woods.
No, I belong there; it’s familiar,
And my heart’s full of idols and the trappings of this world.
But He calls again:
“Do you love Me? Do you love Me?
Come back and show Me.
My children obey Me.
Won’t you?”

Nothing Can Overcome

In the end, we abandoned You,
“He’s not God, just a regular guy.”
Sure some disciples remained, a few;
Most just milled about to watch Him die,
Others leered and spit in His eyes.

Pinned to beams by wrought iron nails,
Blood poured out of His arms and feet.
But their noses were high: “Listen to Him wail!
He’s not God, just a man like you and me.”
So, they added more to their phylacteries.

The weight of the world pulled Him apart.
Each breath wrenched at His limbs.
But something deeper still works in His heart
And not even the worst death devised by men
Can overcome His love and separate us again.

Children Like Trees

O, how the trees stretch into the sky
Like children on tip toe reaching up high,
While their lower limbs
Fill them in
From love poured out like water,
The substance of our only Father.
And, O, the Son!
How His rays make us grow as one,
And in the last days we are not felled, but free
To be like Him for eternity.