The Healer

Forced labor

Hands chapped

Feet swollen, crippled

You arise

Broken body

Twisted, useless limbs

Eyes scabbed and blind

You show up

Bruised face

Arms, legs bloody

Spirit crushed

You present yourself

Murderous heart

Lustful eyes

Swathed in choking sin

You appear

At the end of human capability, past the edges of our facade

The Healer lives

Waiting

As through the stars you peer,

You follow what she's doing,

And long to see her, hold her,

Your beloved.

As through the stars we gaze,

With open face, moved to worship,

We long to see you, touch you,

Beloved One.

The promise has been made:

Two will join in marriage.

Heaven and Earth will meet

To celebrate.

But till the day dawns,

We yearn in midnight hours,

Watching, waiting, longing for

Your face.

Shakespeare Reconstructed

A million apologies to Shakespeare for today's poem. I reconstructed his sonnet 116 "Let me not to the marriage of true minds". I have no aspirations to write better poetry than Shakespeare. I used it only for inspiration.

In Honor Of Valentine's Day

Souls marry before flesh, if love be true.

None can divide lovers, indeed division

Would be proof of love's lack,

A flimsy mockery, a shadow, easily torn.

Right, honest love does not waver, because

It is a fixed decision, a solemn vow,

A firm, unyielding product of the soul.

It is little to onlookers, all to those who love.

It steadies through disaster, sustains through grief.

Fading youth, and lost hopes will not swamp it,

Built by faithful hearts, it carries on,

And death only can cast it asunder.

I swear this is true, and if it's proven false,

Then love does not exist, no one has known it.

Living in the Present

I didn't have time to write today (which makes me sad, but sometimes life is like that). I did, however, read a poem that I wanted to share. It's from the book Calm My Anxious Heart by Linda Dillow, p. 108-109. She says it was written by a fourteen-year-old boy, but doesn't give his name. It struck a chord with me because I often have the same problem as the author.

It was spring but it was summer I wanted; the warm days and the great outdoors.
It was summer but it was fall I wanted; the colorful leaves and the cool dry air.
It was fall but it was winter I wanted; the beautiful snow and the joy of the holiday season.
It was now winter but it was spring I wanted; the warmth and the blossoming of nature.
I was a child but it was adulthood I wanted; the freedom and the respect.
I was twenty but it was thirty I wanted; to be mature and sophisticated.
I was middle-aged but it was twenty I wanted; the youth and the free spirit.
I was retired but it was middle-age that I wanted; the presence of mind without limitations.
My life was over but I never got what I wanted.

I struggle with wanting to be in other circumstances besides the one I am in. I forget that I am exactly where God has placed me at every moment, for His purpose. I am reminded of the quote by Jim Elliot: "Wherever you are, be all there. Live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God."

I so easily forget.

Telescope

I am one, one whole person, alone.

I wear purple and follow the King.

All my allegiance is His, and my service.

My love is one, one whole person, by himself.

He is complete, and completely perfect,

A son of God, he follows the King.

The King of all things knew all my heart,

And read the thoughts of my beloved.

He combined our paths into one,

From what is good, He made something greater.

With one lens, words become clear on a page;

With two, the heavens open to the humble.

Thus, separated, we saw clearly

But joined now, the stars are in view.

The Proud

In every proud, unbent spirit

There is a will to war.

The deafened ones admit no merit

In the commands of the humble.

Mocking, they deny defeat

When they are beaten,

And as they willingly repeat

Punishment, still they do not heed it.

These creatures grow ever more monstrous.

They crush the weak in the way,

Rolling over us and through us,

Settling black eyes on all they cannot overpower.

And yet, at last, their reign will end,

Though they are proud as Satan.

Stronger than iron, the spirit bends,

In the hands of its Creator.

Foggy Morning

A plain water drop
Hangs from a bough, where the sun
Makes it glorious.