Creation's Song (a poem)

Creation sings God's praise

Day and night, though cities quake, 

Though the strongest fall. 

Breathe in His beauty;

Lean on His steadfast mercies.

Cry to God. He hears.

He shares our sorrow. 

He shelters beneath His wings. 

He fails not His own. 

Grace and faithfulness

Turn mourning into dancing;

Our Lord holds out hope.

Unexpected Answers

 

.

Wednesday morning, the timpani roll of thunder woke us before the alarm sounded and kept waking us until we surrendered and arose. The crash of giant cymbals made me jump during my coffee and Scripture tryst.

In the hard year we've walked through, I find myself praying for a rainbow every time it rains. Rainbows have never been memorial stones in my life,  but somehow the promise of God's stayed hand, His bow aimed heavenward, suits the spirit of the season.

He has answered with a patch of rainbow moving across my kitchen wall, with a rainbow baby blanket that grew from a yarn sampler, with a fragment of rainbow in the clouds on a mostly sunny day as I drove to my first mammogram since breast cancer.

Wednesday my prayer was disappointed. No rainbow through the rain for me.

Today, I sat in my reading chair with a cup of tea after the first flurry of morning chores, and behold--

A beautiful, full-spectrum shard of stained glass on the skirt of the ottoman. It didn't last long, but the Lord drew me to that chair at the perfect moment for Him to answer my prayer.

Lord, redeem our misbegotten or mistimed prayers. Give us bread when we ask for stones, fish when we ask for serpents. When we ask for good things, and You ask us to wait, redeem the waiting with answers tinged with the deep Narnian magic that fits a whole world into a wardrobe. Thank You for Jesus, the most wonderful surprise of all, in whose name I pray. Amen. 

Rewrite {A Poem}

Is it too soon to call this year a total rewrite?

One, no, two new medical diagnoses,

Four new doctors,

One surgery down, one to go
For this year,

And now quarantine,

Plague,

Economic collapse?

Just like that,

The Editor bled red ink all over the pages of my calendar,

My plans for the year,

My hopes for the days to come.

While I grieve the changes,

The losses,

The 2 AM weight of new fears,

I acknowledge Your control of the molecules of my body,

The molecules of the air,

The movement of millions.

This could not have come unless You

Are actively orchestrating,

Editing,

Rewriting it for good

To your people,

Who love you and are called according to Your purpose.

I acknowledge that the days being rewritten

Are not being written out of Your plans.

All the days of my life were written in Your book

Before there was yet one.

You rewrote the poem of me from death to life

In Christ Jesus

To do the good works

You prepared ahead of time.

This total rewrite is the path

Of dying to my first draft

And embracing Yours.

If I knew

What You know

About the millions of things You are doing

In these months,

I would claim the gift You offer in this rewrite.

And You do offer a gift.

Do I dare to wait for it,

Watch for it,

Expect it,

Believe it?

A child at 99–

Rewrite.

A 430 year sojourn in a foreign land,

Descending from princes to slaves—

Rewrite.

Another 40-year delay for the deliverer's

Delivery,

Then plague upon plague

Until Your time was right—

Rewrite.

40 years of the not-so-scenic route

Through the wilderness

To the Promised Land—

Rewrite.

Divided kingdom,

Unanointed kings,

Unintended worship—

Rewrite.

Seven decades in Babylon—

Rewrite.

Return, rebuilding, restoration—

Rewrite.

A voice crying in the wilderness—

Rewrite.

A babe for a virgin—

Rewrite.

Messiah on a cross—

Rewrite.

Empty tomb—

Rewrite.

As hard as it is to lose the year I'd hoped to have

And the things which will never be the same

Normal

Again,

Here I am, Lord.

May this rewrite

Set me right

In plans and patterns

I didn't even know had gone wrong.

I trust You;

Help me trust You.

Autumn Hope

The trees are weeping

Great arid tears

Of scarlet, gold, and flame—

Mourning winter’s onset,

Doubting spring will come again.

Autumn sings in minor key,

Bagpipes droning slave trader's hymn.

Loss, surrender, relinquishment thrum

Beneath the glory of the turning leaves,

The crisp cool air,

The gentler light.

Even as tree limbs release

Their grip on summer's glory

And exhalations of wind carry it

Down, down, down to the earth,

Farmers gather in their harvests,

Golden glory-fruit

Of many seeds of hope

Buried in soil

Nourished

By the weeping of the trees.

"I assure you: Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains by itself. But if it dies, it produces a large crop" (John 12:24, HCSB).

The Red Baron {A Poem}

Zooming, diving, soaring, sweeping—

Your squadron of biplane bombardiers

Dazzles with the virtuosity

Of your aerial maneuvers,

Shooting down our common enemy

On the wing.

Today you stopped at my airstrip.

Awaiting new orders?

Marveling at your gossamer wings,

Scarlet fuselage,

Delicate landing gear,

I wondered at the battle-tested God

Who does not send mosquitoes

Without also dragonflies.

Come to the Feet of Jesus

“Come to Me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. All of you, take up My yoke and learn from Me, because I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for yourselves. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

Jesus in Matthew 11:28-30, HCSB

This butterfly we believe to be an Eastern Comma was taking a rest just outside our front door Saturday night as we left for supper. (S)he waited very patiently until I had captured the photo I wanted and then fluttered off.

Come to Jesus.

He promises rest. But far better than rest of body is rest of soul. It is wretched to be a slave, to groan, bleed, toil; but far worse to be Satan's bondman, dragging about an evil conscience and an aching heart. Rest from this cannot be had but by coming to Jesus. And, if we come, He will lighten every other load. Are you poor? Come, and He will make you rich forever. Are you sick? Come, and He will cure your worst disease [the very worst being those of the soul and spirit, even more than of the body]. Are you sad? Come, and He will wipe away your tears. Are you bereaved? Come, and He will be to you a brother in adversity, who changes not, and never dies. Is sin a burden? O then, come to Jesus and He will take it all away. Do you dread the day of death and judgment? Come, and that day will be the dawn of life and glory. O then, come.  --Newman Hall (1816-1902), Come to Jesus

Coming to Jesus, falling "At the Feet of Jesus" is where I have needed to start my days lately. So if you're looking for me today, look for me "in the shelter of my Savior’s embrace /Hidden safely in the refuge of His mercy and His Grace/And I Will Sing Hallelujah to the One who sets me free/And you will find me in the arms of Jesus" (Steven Curtis Chapman, "At the Feet of Jesus," The Glorious Unfolding). Perhaps another Crumble needs to hide in His refuge too?

At the feet of Jesus I will lay my burdens down
I will lay my heavy burdens down
In the stillness I can hear my Savior calling out
Come to me and lay your burdens down

So I will lay down my struggles
I will lay down my shame
All the fear I drag around through this life
like a ball and chain
(All my questions and confusion)
I will sing Hallelujah to the One who sets me free
And you will find me at the feet of Jesus

In the arms of Jesus I will find my peace and rest
I hear him calling come to me and rest
Carried by my shepherd cradled tightly to His chest
There and there alone my soul finds rest

So I will rest in the shelter of my Savior’s embrace
Hidden safely in the refuge of His mercy and His Grace
And I Will Sing Hallelujah to the One who sets me free
And you will find me in the arms of Jesus

At the feet of my Savior
At the feet of my King
I will bow down and worship
I will lift my voice and sing
Hallelujah Hallelujah to the One who sets me free

You will find me at the feet of Jesus

~lyrics from Steven Curtis Chapman's website


May you have a truly restful weekend, my Crumble friends.

{To view the video on the Web, please access this blog post at the crumbs site.}

For Those Who Take Refuge in God

Yahweh is good,

A stronghold in the day of trouble,

And He knows those who take refuge in Him.

Nahum 1:7, NASB

Every word of God is tested;

He is a shield to those who take refuge in Him.

Proverbs 30:5

June at the Pond

Sharing a bit of my #spiritualwhitespace moments with the community at Bonnie's:

To be honest, here's the darker side of the pond right now as the city works hard at improving it: