July, 2014 circa 9pm My sister sings, weaves threads of Compressed, dyed pain & ‘lastic fibresOf sprightly laughter. And the fabricIs attention-commanding.
It’s the wailing voice with the cold-water richness of contrasting contraltos & sopranos.
My brother is the artist whose brush speaks His brush-strokes are bespoke truths From the coal-banks of God’s now-words.
And my other sister. She looked and saw the universe reflected in Abba’s eyes And His eyes were His hands, offering, Saying, Take, this is My gift to you.
And my sister, another, cooks on her knees Incense offered to God with every exact Amount of salt & pepper sprinkled in the Broth broiling on fire.
My other brother was used to fuel. For he dipped his hand in his Pocket, brought
out his wallet and said, Take get kerosene for the house, as he handed over all that was left of his upkeep money. That makes another strand in the light-woven tapestry of Love’s moving tale, mobile, speeding on tracks of Sacrifice, grief, pain & healing, on Father’s heart, In His heart, through and with His heart. And that’s my brother, oh wonder! Isn’t it? And he lifts his face now, looks through his camera Lens and frames the beauty God so carefully crafted In our smiling faces.
Click. You don’t see airbrushed faces here.That’s not the beauty we celebrate.You see the crow lines and the forehead furrows. Laughter & worry once co-existed But the balance shifting to laughter, Nay, joy, mastering & worry slaving. And there’s many more tales to be told.
A universe-full of them. I have a family I’m proud of. Warts and all! I have a family I’m proud of – in the dayOf unveiling, DIVINE NATURE thru & thru!
THOUGHTS FROM THE HEART And days when the heart’s thoughts Are scribbles that shame even a toddler…The jumbles are criss-crosses of pain And despair and asettling futility For the outstretched hands thought To have grasped the“elusive” reality.Is this a game of hide-and-seek?
The fiery dart painted with “Yes” Flies like a heat-seeking missile, strikes Hard, draws blood, spurts poison But a resounding “No”, the voice of a Trumpet from within, blasts and yet whispers…My heart is held in this place of agony Is it weak to be weak? To say, I don’t know And not have all the answers?Is a smile pasted on the best solution To a throbbing, bleeding heart?
Must people see one who has it all together Every time they look at me?Am I scared to be perplexed? Averse to the silence of questioning in the heart? Where is the place of faith? Is this the phase of revival as of the Bed-strapped patient who’s just coming Out of a coma? In & out of the dark…off & on?
Oh for ten thousand tongues to sing of His grace Oh for ten thousand songs To lift up His praise! I don’t have answers, pat & trite He’s weaning me from them Not all questions need have answers That do only the hearer good but drives Deeper the nails on the speaker’s coffin-lid
The word is “On the third day…Oh on the third day, He would raise us up!That we may live in His sight…The taste, the foretaste lingers The only thing that perplexes is the suddenness Of an high going to a low How does one manage the transitions From exultation to the drawn faces Of “Father, why hideth Thy face from us?” But this is the terrain Of attaining unto sonship
Son though He was, yet learned He obedience By the things that He suffered and…
AND being made perfect…And so we cling to the Anchor That holds within the veil—
The Resurrected Life of Jesus That holds true in spite of changing seasons That whether living or dying, dry or on fire, High or low, WE LIVE SOLELY BY HIS LIFE! …for to me to live is Christ and to die gain! Christ is ultimate REALITY!