Ninilchik (Winter)

A timid bit of white light

Crawls across the gray horizon

Shivers, then climbs, then finds

The fight too hard, and slides instead

Beside the icy earth 

As drowsy humans fight

The urge to hibernate

And rise to stoke the fires

That coax aglow the embers of their souls:

Light, and warmth, and hope

Fed branch by branch
And home by home.

(this poem is a companion to this one I wrote a while ago, describing my Alaskan town in spring).  

Choice

We shudder

(and we should)

to hear a tale of

mindless violence

inflicted on an innocent

who should be safe

within his parents' selfless arms

And yet

when met with

less-than-pleasant fact

of tiny humans, full-formed,

torn in bits

from their own mothers’ souls,

we shrug, untouched, and smugly smile,

“choice.” 

God Provides

This one throws it way back, to when I was about 12 years old. I discovered it while rummaging through my childhood, which remains packed away in two blue plastic totes in my parents' attic. The note on the poem says I wrote it for my pastor's wife, Miss Debbie, when her dad was going through a health scare. While I definitely still believe the message of the poem, I like to think my style has grown a bit from the didactic, sing-songy tone of this piece.


Sometimes in this old, weary land
We just can't seem to understand
Things that happen day by day,
Things that just don't go our way.

When someone we love gets very ill,
It is very hard to trust God still.
But we must remember, when pain abides,
An important fact; our God still provides.

He provides strength in every test
And gives us perfect peace and rest.
He helps us in our hardest place;
Shows us his mercy and his grace.

And so, whatever you go through,
Remember, Christian, he's with you.
He'll guide you through that stormy way,
Bring you to live with him some day.

And I know that until then
He will always help you when
You humbly call upon his name,
Since he forever is the same.

From the Splendor of God's Heaven

Higher Ground Baptist Bible Camp played an incalculable role in my spiritual growth as a teenager and college student. My two years as a camper and my eight years on staff shaped my theology and my attitudes in huge ways. Higher Ground's teen leadership camp, known as "The Stretcher Program," emphasizes servant leadership based on Christ's example as communicated by Paul in Philippians chapter two: "Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus..." After participating as a Stretcher one year, I wanted to express in writing the core concepts I had learned. This poem was the result.

From the splendor of God's heaven,
From the rainbow circled throne:
From unceasing praise of angels,
Admiration purely shown.

From sweet meaningful communion
With a Father deeply loved,
From perfection, unmarred beauty,
Jesus came to ransom us.


To deep poverty continual,
To a shameful, lowly birth
To a dirty stable manger,
Endless painful toils of earth:

To the mocking scorn of sinners,
Pilate's unjust judgment hall:
To that cross on Calv'ry's hillside,
Most accursed death of all.


Let this mind be in me, Father,
Which was also in my Lord:
Not vain pride in my position,
Selfish thought for man's reward.

But a mind of humble giving,
Caring not for earthly fame:
Living selflessly, your servant
For the glory of your Name.


And his Name is high exalted
Far above all other names
All will bow, each tongue confess him:
Christ the Lord forever reigns.

Lord of the Broken

Lord of the broken, Jesus, I thank you

For knowing my weakness and feeling my pain

You weep with my heartaches; you gather my sorrows

From the fragments you make a mosaic of grace

Lord of the nightfall, Sovereign, I thank you

For being the light even when I can’t see

You’ve already conquered the powers of darkness

You illumine your truth through my frailty and need

Lord of redemption, Savior, I thank you

That nothing I do can diminish your love

In spite of my failures, you’re building your kingdom

You’re restoring your image, your glory in us

My heart is not hidden from you;

You know me better than I even do.

Into my weakness your strong voice has spoken:

You bring beauty from chaos:

You’re Lord of the broken. 

Legalist

You’re free, he said, and snapped the shackles on.

You see, he said, your debt is paid; your sin is gone.

And now, there’s only one thing you must do:

Endure these chains, and thus maintain his love for you.

Our master is a kindly one, he said

His employ isn’t something you can earn; it’s just a gift instead.

But his affection, that’s a different thing:

It’s only for the few who keep the rules for following.

Sure, he already suffered for your gain;

Willingly laid down his life, imbibed your pain.

But gratitude demands you languish, too

And thus allay the payment he so freely made for you.

You’re not his servant, really, but his son  

Accepted irrevocably; it cannot be undone  

But still he’ll snub you if you slip or fail

By messing up the way you sing or how you wear your hair.

Of course, his yoke is easy, and his burden light

Just trust him with your all; he’ll make your days be sunny, bright

But, God forbid you stumble on the way;

Cause then he’ll turn his face and make you pay.

No matter that he bids you rest in grace!

It doesn’t really mean to rest: it means pick up the pace

Create a testimony that will brightly glow

To hide the weak, dependent soul his loving light would show.

Yes, gaze on him, but watch yourself – beware

Of losing sight of regulation in the beauty of his care.

His liberation merits strictest gratitude, most cautious song;

After all, you’re free, he said, and snapped the shackles on. 

Psalm 8

This one's from seven years ago today: a long, rambling, reflections-on-a-Psalm-rewritten-as-a-poem inspired by a sermon on the title passage, Psalm 8. It was intended as a song, with three eight-line verses and an eight-line chorus. I'm bad at titles, so even after all this time, this poem doesn't really have one. Suggestions are always welcome. And hopefully, my writing style has become more concise with time.

Psalm 8

He spoke the worlds into existence,
Hung the stars up with his hand;
Painted heaven with his fingers,
Shaped the galaxies with his command.

He formed the earth and moved upon it,
Made all living things we see -
Sheep and cattle, birds and fishes,
Feeb'lest grass and tallest mighty tree.

Though I was made to know my Maker,
Sin forbade my drawing near.
God of power soon would judge me:
Guilt and shame o'erwhelmed my heart with fear.

And yet, this mighty God, Creator
Chose to take a servant's dress:
Came to earth; in love and mercy,
Clothed me in his perfect righteousness.

His Word upholds what he created;
Countless mighty stars still flame,
Seasons come and go, enabled
By sustaining power of his Name.

How can I fail to trust my Father?
He who owns eternity
Gives me ought but what love chooses.
Mercy's hands of strength are holding me.

Oh Lord our Lord, your Name is mighty -
Excellent in all the earth.
What is man that you would love me,
Visit me, and bring to me new birth?

All glory, honor, highest praises
Ever more we give to you
God, Creator, Lord Almighty
Faithful, righteous, merciful and true.