i’ve got memories that live
outside my little mind
and when I’m old and feeble
the good ones will refuse to die
they’ll just go on blooming
like an old homestead’s roses would
and passers by will wonder
just how on earth they could
but when the soil’s reclaimed all else
their beauty in season will show
that’s how my memories of you will linger
as the petals come and go
© Joel Tipple
we’re sail-a-brating
our
anniversary
using that
system
of counting daze
oceans of memories between us
how can we count
the waves?
that have washed through
our story
written in the sand
beach ya we can
make more
walking hand in hand
endless ditties
won’t express my
true emotions
words won’t
so I’ll stop versing now love
to see you
and hold this moment
11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11
New International Version (NIV)
H)eaven knows how encouraged I am.
O)nly You Lord know every plan.
P)rosperous in all ways.
E)very day I praise Your name.
I am unworthy,
but I have the keys to the kingdom on my key ring.
It would be sad if I grew old
and forgot what they were for.
I am unworthy,
He must increase and I must decrease.
What’s that sound?
He’s at the door.
I am unworthy.
Washed in the blood.
Seeking revelation of my sin.
It is true, if in my flesh I have lost,
in the atonement of grace, I have won.
Most days when I wake up
and begin the routine,
bleary eyes taking in
a familiar scene,
I start the ball rolling
just the way I should
but life isn’t as smooth
as I think it
could
be.
A lot of days are bigger than me,
I admit.
Okay, most,
okay, all.
I need a little of me,
but much more of Him,
because Jesus is there to catch me
when I fall.
Did you ever wake up feeling like
the loser of a bet?
It’s only the beginning of the day
but you feel like a horse
put away wet.
I’ve never been much
for the sound of retired.
When I’m done being tired,
I’ll have had enough of that.
I need energy to live
through this world to beyond
where I’ll get to sing the rest of the song
and know
all of its meaning.
But that doesn’t come without dropping
the idea my strength is enough.
I’m good with knowing
on You
Lord,
I’ll be leaning.
28) “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. 29) Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30) For My yoke is easy and My burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30 New American Standard
Your yoke, Lord,
Your discipline,
is not so difficult.
But the surrender of our wills
seems to be the field of challenge
we most often find ourselves engaged on.
Why do we hold so tightly to what does not serve us
or the Lord we claim to serve?
Surrender is a challenge,
but we seldom recognize holding back for the anchor it is,
or surrender for the freedom it represents.
© Joel Tipple
Oven-tually
you have to come out
from where it’s
toasty
and warm,
and life’s
mishaps
can break you and leave you a mess,
just like after a storm.
But whether you’re
upper, middle, or even lower
crust,
no matter how life has tossed you,
pick yourself up you must.
© Joel Tipple
WordPress is very sentimental. It sent me a little notice that we had been together for two years! Now, I’ve only been posting consistently for the last 250 some odd days (some of them very odd, and all in a row, don’t you know). Since I’m sentimental too, I thought I’d say thanks to WordPress for this remarkable platform we bloggers get to use. But will there be cake?
It’s just a half hour to twelve
and on the need to post my post I dwell
What subject should I tackle?
How about that ramshackle
run down house.
You know the one…
that you drive by several times a week
thinking that someday you should peek
in the pane-less window
of what might have been the living room.
A wisp of a curtain still blows in the wind.
Roses still bloom in front,
where someone tenderly cared for them,
not knowing they would be strong enough to
outlast
everyone
who ever lived there.
© Joel Tipple
Almighty God,
please
give me the wisdom
to know that I am not wise.
I tend to slip that mask on,
thinking it a clever guise.
But I am typical of the youngest,
and though I crow and jest,
my insecurities show through,
even through my best.
Can I give myself as a canvas?
Would you take the brush?
I believed I was so artful,
but my colors were muddied
and rushed.
I’d rather the master
paint me,
and Your signature on me be found.
Your name will then be spoken,
and I will delight in the sound.
© Joel Tipple
Write here, Joel. 