A poem about our fight with the flesh and our victory in Jesus.
Wretched, broken, deplorable
Painted into the corner
Of the flesh in which I reside.
It is the course of all my doubt.
Who will save me?
Oh, who will save me?
Yes, who will save me
From this body of death?
Damaged, pained, miserable
Resigned to live the life
Of struggle one day at a time.
It is the course of all my doubt.
Who will save me?
Oh, who will save me?
Yes, who will save me
From this body of death?
Downcast, joyless, damnable
Chained to the carcass
Of this world of suffering.
It is the course of all my doubt.
Who will save me?
Oh, who will save me?
Yes, who will save me
From this body of death?
Wicked, worthless, despicable
Filled with the contents
Of all that is vile and common.
It is the course of all my doubt.
Who will save me?
Oh, who will save me?
Yes, who will save me
From this body of death?
Pathetic, hapless, pitiable
Grounded by the dirt
Of our existence without God.
It is the course of all my doubt.
Who will save me?
Oh, who will save me?
Yes, who will save me
From this body of death?
Monday, January 19, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
New Year
So here we are 17 days into a new year and all seems the same to me.
The people I know are still as stressed as they were before the infamous changing of the calendar. The people I know are still worried about the economy, the world temperament, their home life, love life, and children (if they have them). The people I know are still happy with some, angry with others and unsure about all the rest. The people I know are want to voice their opinion, gossip a little here and there and generally be self-absorbed.
Nothing really changes with the flipping of the calendar's page.
In the last week, I have seen the grace of God played out with wonder. In the midst of the above people, I saw His outstretched hand caress the hearts of hurting believers who knew no way out of their pain in their own power. But, believe me, His power was enough. I saw this with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and held the hands of those to whom this power was applied.
No one changes things, like God changes things.
So 17 days into the new year, I wonder if this truth can get through to others I know, like all those above, who still struggle with all those things. Some don't even know that they are struggling so (in fact, some think they are just fine) and I would fear for their new year, if it weren't for the One who possesses the power to change those who are powerless. He still loves the world so...
The people I know are still as stressed as they were before the infamous changing of the calendar. The people I know are still worried about the economy, the world temperament, their home life, love life, and children (if they have them). The people I know are still happy with some, angry with others and unsure about all the rest. The people I know are want to voice their opinion, gossip a little here and there and generally be self-absorbed.
Nothing really changes with the flipping of the calendar's page.
In the last week, I have seen the grace of God played out with wonder. In the midst of the above people, I saw His outstretched hand caress the hearts of hurting believers who knew no way out of their pain in their own power. But, believe me, His power was enough. I saw this with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and held the hands of those to whom this power was applied.
No one changes things, like God changes things.
So 17 days into the new year, I wonder if this truth can get through to others I know, like all those above, who still struggle with all those things. Some don't even know that they are struggling so (in fact, some think they are just fine) and I would fear for their new year, if it weren't for the One who possesses the power to change those who are powerless. He still loves the world so...
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Poem for a Friend
Here is a poem I wrote for a great friend of mine. She was a co-worker for many years in a private Christian school. She taught English. When she was the students' teacher, they hated her strict adherence to form and grammar. Later, they lauded her teaching style and its effect on each of them. She is still a blessing to me and I thought you might like to get to know her.
In Honor of Jan Meadows
She’s a vixen, a harpy, a raptor,
When it come to words.
Nay the rapier and foil are insufficient for her labor.
Give her the mighty claymore to slash
And hew the hopeful’s prose.
And yet, though honored not in sync
With their moment
They all fall in capitulation to her power
With admiration for the very thrashing
They received at her hand.
O hark unto me, you who know not her acumen.
May all give her glory who have known
Her whip, her lash, her work of love.
She is the wonder of a woman
From the fields, rhetorically speaking.
In Honor of Jan Meadows
She’s a vixen, a harpy, a raptor,
When it come to words.
Nay the rapier and foil are insufficient for her labor.
Give her the mighty claymore to slash
And hew the hopeful’s prose.
And yet, though honored not in sync
With their moment
They all fall in capitulation to her power
With admiration for the very thrashing
They received at her hand.
O hark unto me, you who know not her acumen.
May all give her glory who have known
Her whip, her lash, her work of love.
She is the wonder of a woman
From the fields, rhetorically speaking.
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