Poetry

When to Worship

Honestly, the book of Habakkuk was not on my radar. It’s a small book near the end of the Old Testament, written by a prophet we don’t know much about. A theme in much of the Old Testament is man’s relationship with God. In a nutshell, man has always had a habit of forgetting God when things are going well and complaining when the situation worsens. The reigning king at the time of Habakkuk, Jehoiakim, was described by the prophet Jeremiah in this way: “your eyes and your heart are intent only upon your own dishonest gain, and on shedding innocent blood and on practicing oppression and extortion” Jer. 22:17 It was against this backdrop, during a time of increasing evil in Judah and oppression by the Babylonians, that Habakkuk writes of praise in chapter 3. I quote chapter 3:17-19 here: “Though the fig tree should not blossom and there be no fruit on the vines, though the yield of the olive should fail and the fields produce no food, though the flock should be cut off from the fold and there be no cattle in the stalls, yet I will exult in the Lord, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength, and He has made my feet like hinds feet, and makes me walk on my high places.”

It’s easy to praise God when the sailing is smooth and complain when we are buffeted by storms. The self discipline required to stop for a moment to consider how we might grow and learn during those times is neither automatic nor easy to come by. However, God is always worthy of our praise and deference, and although we may not always be able to understand His ways, He remains on the throne. Of that we can be certain.

God, please accept my worship.
Let my song be lifted high.
When I focus on what’s difficult in my life,
help me remember the times
you’ve renewed my strength and joy,
carried me when I couldn’t walk.
When my foundation felt unstable
You were always my solid rock.
Increase my understanding,
in the darkness let it be my light.
Give me the same breath to sing in the valley
that I breathe when I sing on the heights.

God’s First Bandmember

First, a couple notes:
1) Friends who are drummers, don’t get a big head over this.
2) I won’t pretend there is any biblical basis for my poem. I am not adding or subtracting from what is between the covers. I’m just sayin’.

Do you think something was left out?
Maybe it was just inferred.
Perhaps when God wrote Genesis,
He assumed we’d understand that in his word,
in the background sometimes subtle,
sometimes quiet,
sometimes loud,
is the presence of a great drummer,
who, thank God, is not proud.
Although he or she could certainly be,
because when God first considered man
and everything else in creation
and (come on, of course!) the first band,
for His first band member, He found a drummer
who could put Buddy Rich to shame.
If you’re too young, or not into big bands
you’ll have to Google his name.
For proof I offer my heart,
or yours,
or a friend’s.
I imagine at the end of the first day
there was a drum solo no one wanted to end.
So the next time you hear music
of, I suppose, any kind,
imagine God’s first band
without a drummer to keep time.

Dear hands,

Dear hands,
Be open.
Hold on
to life
until the time is right to
let it go.
Point
the way to the cross
where the
nails
drove through His wrists.
Fight
for what is right.
Gently lead
the directionless.
Comfort
the hurting.
Bring home
the lost.

Big Risk

There’s Big Risk
lurking
just around the corner.
Do you dare get out of your chair?
He’s a monster of epic proportions
waiting for you there.
You imagine…
He’s checking off names in an old leather notebook
with a pencil worn down to the nub.
Surely he’s fried bigger fish than you,
You’re just the latest to join the club.
You can hear him breathing
out and in
heavy and slow.
Your heart feels
as though it might burst
if you get up and go.

Then you remember your dreams,
the goals, the plans.
A flame flickers
to life
inside you.
The fire gets bigger
than the fear living there.
It rushes from room to room.

Now ablaze with courage,
you stand up and step out
around the corner to face it.
It’s time to live or die trying,
You’re so mad at that monster,
you could spit.

Sweat pouring from your forehead,
you look,
ready to do battle with Goliath.
Forward,
nothing there.
To the sides,
naught there too.
Then you look down
and catch your breath.

Instead of the demon you imagined,
ready to eat you for lunch,
There’s a cute little monster
with a bullhorn twice his size.
Clearly, he couldn’t do much.

Then you see
you mistook
where the battlefield lay;
it wasn’t with the titan you thought.
It was with yourself
and wanna be monsters
that you truly fought.

Matthew 10:26-31
26 “So do not be afraid of them, for there is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. 27 What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs. 28 Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. 29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. 30 And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. 31 So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

Unique

All are unique, though each of us
under the sun
are all part of the same.

Your own blend of talents
and foibles
and genius of art,
together with your name…

bring a certain indefinable
flavor to our world;
a particular purpose and goal.

Without you,
your special piece
in God’s puzzle,
the image
would be something less
than whole.

Time

you’ve got to hand it to time
to the second hand
big hand
or little

time out

a moment to ponder

if it’s the quickest
why do we call it the second hand
and not the first?
why is the minute hand the longest
when the hour hand has the biggest job to do?

such a vital subject with so much to say and do
there’s never quite enough of it to hold on to
it cries out from our wrist and table wall and oven clock
it even manages to talk
tick tock tick tock tick tock

we try to
save it
borrow it
loan it
pass it
bank it
and still
we go over it
we hold meetings
to consider it
and still
manage
to waste
it
it never goes to sleep
we can’t hold it tight enough to keep
our grave stones mark it
between our beginning
and our end
but weren’t we once a gleam
in our parents’ eyes?
was it then?
such an artificial construct
the little brother
to eternity

let’s wind this up

we’ll take this up
later
when
we
have
more…

Ferry Me Over

Though I can’t see the bank on the other side,
ferry me over, Lord, ferry me over.
As you’ve done it before, you will provide.
Ferry me over this river.

Ferry me over this river, Lord, when all I want to do is drown,
when the burdens of this life start to take me under
and hope is nowhere to be found.
Help me take stock of your promises
I know they’re in your word to be used
I’m holding in my hand a ticket, Father.
I know you won’t refuse
to ferry me over, ferry me over.

I’ve brought nothing for the journey, Lord.
See here my empty hands.
I can’t rely on my own strength
to get me to the promised land.
Anything you see in this mind and this body,
God you know I want you to have.
But please first ferry me over this wind swept river,
When I get there please help me stand. Please ferry me.

Ferry me over this river, Lord, when all I want to do is drown,
when the burdens of this life start to take me under
and hope is nowhere to be found.
Help me take stock of your promises,
I know they’re in your word to be used.
I’m holding in my hand a ticket, Father.
I know you won’t refuse
to ferry me over, ferry me over, carry me over, take me over,
ferry me over.

Jesus in my skin

Imagine what would it be like
if for one day Jesus posed as me?
What if the man that Jesus was
woke up in my skin?
Sitting down at my desk,
noting my schedule,
I wonder if He’d let it be
or see things to change…

Like
who He’d see and what He’d buy,
what He’d clean or leave alone,
where He’d drive, how fast He’d go,
what He’d think
of the guy
going slow…

Halfway through the day,
holding my notebook,
would He pause to have a cup
and just assess?
Would He go straight ahead
with my appointments?
Or would He lay down for a nap,
some needed rest.

Then I wonder how He’d finish my day…
Would the world’s experience of me
be different that day?

Would they see the same kind of eyes?
Would they feel the same way
when I stopped and said hello?
Would Jesus walking
using my feet
seem very
different?

Nearing the end of the day,
feeling my body is weary,
would Jesus
be more patient
with people I know
than I would?

Would He sit down and and write
some suggestions for me?
For instance:
Play with the dog more?
Talk with people more and less at them?
Stop and smell the flowers and pick one for my wife?
Would He submit that I need more time to read,
or maybe go to bed sooner,
and get up earlier too.

I have to wonder
what it would be like…
A day with Jesus
in my skin.

Thank you Max Lucado, for the inspiration.

Dancing in Heaven

In heaven we all can dance.
Limits disappear in a flash.
Those of us not fashion forward
all of a sudden have dash.

The people whose legs don’t work,
or with two lefts instead of one
find their hearts directing moves
that only in their dreams they’ve done.

In heaven I don’t believe
we’ll spend much time playing harp,
instead we’ll spend it doing,
not just waiting for something to start.

So if in your best dreams you’re dancing,
heaven has a floor for you,
and God has the best choreographers
to help those dreams come true.