Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Into the Wilderness I Go

Into the wilderness I go;
Let prayer ever be on my lips.
The Lord is my rock and my refuge.
In Him, I put all my faith.

With the morning sun
He sets me on my way
And with the evening's darkness
Sets me in His hands to rest.

Guide me, O Lord, by thy radiant beam
And keep me in thy care at day's end.

Deep Within

Deep within an old attraction lies;
Buried within, these feelings still reside.
These feelings were immediate;
My heart leapt for joy at our first sight.

I felt your joy;
I anguished in your pain.
I let my heart wrap itself
In selfish desire that turned so vain.

Still I feel something for you,
A quiet, unassuming love,
And I pray for a day
That it may be shown…

A day that it given to you not with pain
But with Grace that comes from the Lord above.

Murmurs of a Restless Heart

I love her not with a boisterous voice.
No, I love her in quiet ways.
What love I have, I give it to the Lord.
I beg Him: "Give me a heart ready to love."

I cast away feelings I wish could come true,
But each day I am reminded my heart is not ready.
I beg the Lord: "Give me a heart ready to love."
But I hear no answer.

I let these feelings subside and then rise.
I know there is something there, but is it love?
Each time I see her, my heart leaps for joy,
But she is happy and so must I...

But am I happy? Am I with love?
I feel so empty, so incomplete.
I am not strong enough
To love without love’s return.

My heart craves to let its feelings be known;
I must let these feelings go.
I must let these feelings be known
To the person of my kind affection.

For some time I had a passion in life.
I felt purpose of the Truth,
But now I feel only pain,
Pain to which nothing will suffice.

She spoke to me as a friend;
She loved me as a friend.
Now there is only distance
And pain from an absence of love.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Morning at Dawn

Darkness covers the fields;
A chill fills the spring air.
Without the sun’s life-giving light,
The pastures of green are hidden from sight.

A persistent breeze breaks the pre-dawn silence,
And the grasses waver in the wind
As though massive waves in a sea.
Back and forth the grasses bend as the dawn light appears.

Dark clouds form from the south
As the coming of the morning sun is marked.
The menacing maelstrom quickly moves
With thunder and lightning and wind now howling.

All grows dark as the clouds extinguish all light,
And the threatening skies, now black, open up.
The rain pours down at a quickening pace,
And the deluge begins, showing no end.

Amid the maelstrom is a lone tree,
Resting high atop one of the rolling hills.
Its branches, flailing amid the wind and rain,
Act as a shelter from the thickening tempest.

Lightning strikes the solitary tree,
Frightening a group of songbirds from their alcove.
Thunder crackles as the tree is struck,
But amid the downpour the wood fails to ignite.

As quickly as the thunderstorm arrives,
Its remnants race away to the north, now at a distance.
The quiet of morning returns again,
And light from the morning sun shines brightly.

To the east the orange light casts a glow
On the peaceful pasture with quiet serenity.
So too the songbirds return to their tree;
Their chirps intermingle with the subsiding flow of rainwater.

The sweet symphony of nature’s harmony,
The birds’ chirping songs of morning
And the peaceful gushing of life-giving rain,
Pay tribute to the intricate beauty of God’s creation:
This beginning of a life-giving and blessed day.

Wednesday, February 7, 2007

The Meaning of Love

What is the meaning of Love,
That emotion so mystifying?
Is it a gift from one person to another
Or a mystery of Grace from above?

Like morning dew on a blade of grass,
In time human love comes to pass.
Who are we to claim these gifts our own,
We whom have been given what we have not sown?

Love in its pure form is not human in form,
Since human love is not unlike a storm,
Where the rain clouds quickly build
Until they are pushed away by a greater force and thus yield.

The meaning of Love is this:
Give of your heart until it hurts
Then give of it ten times more.
Love is to trust even when things get worse;
Only then can you find what the Lord has in store.

Monday, February 5, 2007

The Garden

A grove of oaks
Stands stoic amid a field.
Its isolation is stark, like an island,
And its surrounding grassland extends
As far as the eye can see.

At the center of the grove,
Resting safely beneath the trees
Is a lush garden of roses,
And a canopy broad and comforting
Shelters the garden beneath.

The soothing spring sunlight
Shines softly through;
Its light is a nourishing gift from above.
The soft smell of roses,
Sweet and intoxicating, wafts to the heights above.

This garden’s soil is fresh;
Its soft, moist earth is sweet in smell.
Bountiful is this blessed earth,
And all the plants set firm in this soil
Are fruitful and blessed.

At the heart of this garden
Is a rose bush, with its blossoms
A deep alluring red in full bloom
And its delicate leaves verdant,
Full of life and of hope.

But at its base, a weed springs forth.
Its stature is small and its blossom insignificant.
The plant is a mistake, its existence here out of place.
Still, it exists out of love from the Maker.

It is a meager dandelion, with blossom golden bright.
Yet the dandelion is still out of place,
With all the blooming roses
That triumphantly soar in the towering heights.

It clings to the rose bush’s base like a vine
And chokes from it its life and beauty,
So enchanting, mystifying and divine,
For it is blind to the splendor the world sees.

For the roses are love,
And the dandelion is mere attraction.
Its stunted growth is a mere shadow
Compared to the fullness of life that is above.

And so the Gardener enters the sanctified grove,
Treading carefully to its very center.
A mighty breeze blows through the grove,
And the dandelion quivers violently amid the wind.

Humbled, the dandelion releases its fortified grip
From the rose bush’s tortured base,
And the Gardner approaches it
Quietly with loving care and grace.

He knows of the dandelion’s intentions,
Of its loving desire for embrace,
For He remembers all His plants,
Whatever stage in life they may be.

He forgets not His plans for each of them,
Especially the solitary dandelion
Which He takes into His hands
And brings to another fertile land
To let blossom for all the world to see.