Tuesday, January 26, 2021

Shine {A Poem}

Induct me, Lord, into the fellowship of shining faces,

The kinship of the radiant, kintsugi saints

With your gold gleaming through the fractures of

Their souls. Shine Your bright righteousness on me.

Count me among the meek who gaze so long 

And earnestly at Jesus' glorious face

In ink and paper, pixels, glass, and light,

Who speak and listen to Your voice along

The steep and cobbled winding path of life

To such extent, Your Spirit kindles inner flame

Your light, not ours,

Absorbed, reflected back

From unveiled hearts, shines forth to watching world.

But first, we need to see. Open blind eyes.

Transfix us and transform us with Your grace.

In Jesus' name we seek Your face. Amen.


~crlm, 1/14/21

Wednesday, January 20, 2021

O Thou Who Art My Quietness

O Thou who art my quietness, my deep repose,
My rest from strife of tongues, my holy hill,
Fair is Thy pavilion, where I hold me still.
Back let them fall from me, my clamorous foes,
Confusions multiplied;
From crowding things of sense I flee, and in Thee hide.
Until this tyranny be overpast
Thy hand will hold me fast;
What though the tumult of the storm increase,
Grant to Thy servant strength, O Lord, and bless with peace.

~Amy Carmichael, Rose From Brier

"What He has done is the best, because He has done it, and I pray that as a family we may not cast about for explanations fo the mystery, but exult in the Holy Spirit, and say, 'I thank Thee, Father . . . . Even so, Father.' It suggests a lack of confidence in Him if we find it necessary to try to understand all He does."

~Rev. Frank Houghton, regarding the young death of his sister on the cusp of her long-desired missionary career (Ibid.)

Friday, January 15, 2021

Amaryllis {A Poem}


The blooms keep re-enchanting my imagination
As they unfurl petals like the woman of chayil
Facing the future and all its dire prognostications
With hands outstretched and kindness on her tongue.
They bloom so bravely in the window there,
Rose and white streaked satin petals,
Crimpèd edges, curling back like unclenched fists,
Their hearts of streaky green and apple seeds
Laid bare before a world that deals not often kindly
With bare hearts. Before their valiant candor
My own armored, fainting heart beholds its poverty
And sighs.