Creation

The Lord, my God, speaks
And creation springs forth
He rolls up his sleeves
And plants a lush green garden
Every nook and cranny
Teems with beauty and wonders
In the midst of that garden
God places me, the steward
He shares with me His
Dreams for this place
The joy that will fill its atmosphere
Satisfied with all his work God steps back
Leaving me to tend to His other creations
Trusting me to tend the this garden
I roll up my sleeves and begin
I toil and sweat, dream and create
Just as I was taught
I stand back to admire my handiwork
Only to realize the beauty and wonder
Of the garden has only been diminished by my labor
I roll up my sleeves even higher
I work at a fevered pitch
Until the day that the first
Brown leaf hits the ground
The color, once so vibrant around me
Has long since faded away
Despair strikes, knocking me to my knees
What will my Lord think
He who so effortlessly creates
Wonder and beauty
He who left me as steward
Will return to his beloved garden dry and dead
I lay there with my face
Pressed against the parched earth
And above my quiet sobs
I hear approaching footsteps
A hand finds rest on my shoulder
I turn afraid of what I might find
The Lord, my God, has returned
And He looks at me with tears streaming down his face
Seemingly forgetting about the garden
He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight
God unrolls my sleeves
And with a cool wet cloth, He washes my face
Taking my hand, He leads me to
A new creation, an everlasting garden
Lusher, greener, and more beautiful than the old
Here the Lord says, toil no more
Here the Lord says, beauty and wonder will not fade

We Journey

We journey the three of us
Body, mind, and spirit
Often at war, rarely in peace
What one feels, the other knows,
and the last one sees

We journey the three of us
Body, mind, and spirit
Walking the faithful life
Each of us grappling with belief
in his own way

We journey the three of us
Body, mind, and spirit
Guided by truth
The still and quiet whisper
In the midst of our chaos

We journey from
Wilderness
Dungeon
Desert
To the land of
Healing
Light
Promise

We journey, the three of us
Body, mind, and spirit
In the land of glory
There will be unity
Till then we journey

Stay and speak

On the good days
We fight the lies alone
Truth thunders
From our lips
Reverberating in our hearts
Other days
Weak and wounded
We lay silent
While dark vapors
Fill the atmosphere
Lips tremble
Hearts break
Lies seep in
Hope is lost
In that moment
Of utter darkness
You appear
You pick up
Our forgotten sword
And speak the truth
We no longer can
Lies flee
Truth pursues
Salve pours from your lips
You treat my
Self inflicted wounds
You turn to go
And I afraid
That night might
Return again
I ask
You to stay

Fan the Flame

I hear God saying
Fan the flame
For too long
Your fire has been
Too small
Under fed
You’ve let lesser things
Block His breath
Things like
Entertainment
Busyness
Offenses
Politics
Hate
Love
Have all created
Walls blocking
The rushing wind
The Holy Spirit
The oxygen
Your fire needs
God says to let
His Glory
His Fire
Consume the walls
Surrounding your heart
And begin again
To fan the flame
Such that everything
You touch
is set on fire
Fan the flames
Feed the fire

Lord of Light

Jesus
King of all creation
Lord of Light
Let your light permeate
King of my heart
Permeate my life
Make the dark places light
Cause my heart to glow
Cause it to shine
Out through the wounded places
To flood the world with your light
Create new pools of light
New constellations in the night
Guiding others to you
The wounded healer
King of the universe
Jesus

The song of the spirit

Bend
Dig
Plant
Cover
Water
Shuffle

There’s a rhythm to life

Bend
Dig
Plant
Cover
Water
Shuffle

The spirit hums while he works

Bend
Dig
Plant
Cover
Water
Shuffle

Planting a little of this
And a little of that
In a field freshly plowed

Water awakens the seed
First the root takes hold

A sprout pierces the soil
Basking in the light of the sun

The farmer looks on with joy
A son dreams of possibilities
As the brown field turns green

And the spirit continues his gentle work
His hum turns into a song of praise

The sun rises and sets
The rains come and go
And tiny seedling grows

Finally the spirit is satisfied
It’s time for the harvest
With a whistle the sickle sings
It sings of glory

Oasis

What is the modern oasis?

Is it that cell tower that comes into view after traveling for so long with no bars?

Or how about that green coffee shop (or perhaps the red chicken) sign that you can just barely make out down the road?

Or maybe it’s that new notification from our trusted news source telling the truth we’re all to eager to hear?

Whatever the case may be, make no mistake we’re all that tired and thirsty soul in the desert.

Looking off into the distance we see our salvation.

But is it an oasis or a mirage?

Can you discern the two? Or do you have to wait till your mouth is filled with sand?