Inspiration

Creative decay happens...
A mammoth of the forest falls
A path for sizzling sunlight appears
Tender shoots respond, grow,
Feed on the fallen, recycling the years.

Creative grief looms...
A mountainous emotion zooms
Testing
Arresting the will
But, in the end, stilled
Perseverance crests the hill.

Creative worry calls...
Bottomless stress
Unsettledness
Wall of despair, ball of dismay
A puzzle with pieces missing, mislaid
Much can be gained from the angst, the rune
Humbled, refocused, head bowed, heart tuned.

One evening recently a dear friend and I sat talking about the fact that though she was praying and seeking God for clear direction, she seemed to receive no answer and couldn’t “see” the way she was supposed to go. As I listened to her, it became clear to me (isn’t it always easier to see/hear God’s direction for someone else than for ourselves?) that God had her exactly where she was for a specific purpose. She was unable to see where God wanted her to go next because He had called her to hide (and rejoice!) for a season under the shadow of His wings.

And can it be
The canopy of God's blessings
Extends out to me,
Even me.

And just so likewise
The keen of His eyes
Sees through my disguise,
Keen eyes.

The kernel of faith
Delivered, displaces
A wandering waif,
Faith seed.

Now mornings are full
As this sauntering fool
Finds The Way is a Ray
That bleeds.

And what is man
That you are mindful of him?
A fleeting breath
A whispered prayer
There...and then gone.
His days are numbered,
Joys can be few,
Perhaps you are mindful of him
So that, in kind,
His mind can be full of You.

Just what would happen, God,
If nations turned to you,
Loved like brothers, sisters,
Did as they'd have each do?

What if greed and gain
Resigned as highest quest,
What if each bare soul
Were seen as honored guest?

The courtrooms, echoed halls,
Would close for lack of use,
The homeless, hungry, heckled,
Would slip the stalking noose.

Veritas and valor
Could once more live in schools,
Replacing pulseless pallor,
Devitalizing rules.

Kids could fall asleep at night
Knowing in the morn
Their parents, married, kept the light
Of love safe through the storm.

It's just a dream, of course, I know,
And futile as the Wind
That blows throughout the world in hope
The madness would suspend.

On God's Green Earth I must confess
I much prefer the wilderness.
Cities, structured, hustling-bustling,
Dampen deep devotional rustlings.

Resound of pebble striking stream
Would disappear in cities' screams,
Subtly shifting shadows cast
Escape the urban blare and blast.

Then there are those, though corporate bound,
Crammed and jammed in crowded aisles,
Who yet are tuned to sweeter sound
That sifts through stunted, stifling styles.

Attention theirs is caught and held,
Tendered to a higher power,
Municipalities do their best
But fail all folk in final hour.

So whether jet or Walden Pond,
When you're immersed in worried ways,
Poseidon call bids you respond,
Kneeling, join the tide that prays.

Waters soon will lap your feet

God of wonder
God of thunder
God who's under all we see

God of rising
Undisguising
Stripping down deceptive pleas

In our asking
Your unmasking
Makes us conscious of our state

Soon revealing
Sin congealing
Heal our hearts, renew our faith.

An awesome expanse by unrighteous unrippled
Senseless in sense that senses can't pry
The secrets
Souls defenseless, crippled
Crumple, defeated and fate decry.

Alpha, Omega
First and Last,
Thunderblast that bade creation,
Floats on wind through prodigal nations
Calling to all in whispering voice
Rustling the leaves where branches a choice.

Some will attend this internal cue
In transcension of senses, songs, pews,
Discerning how much is merely a ruse
A touch is reborn, the tactile eschewed.

Taste now the freedom of soul's release,
Soak in the sights of straightened streets,
Feel smooth gold that greet's the feet
So recently washed by Mild and Meek.

Smell the scent of burial garb
Discarded, hear chants of merry mob
Heartily singing 'round pearly gates,

He gives hope to the hopeless
Life to the lifeless
Sight to the blind

Flight to the wingless
Might to the kingless
Keys to the kind

Lamps to the mired
Camps to the tired
A Rock to the weak

Maps to the lost
Naps to the tossed
Hats off to the meek.

He takes sin from the silty
Grime from the guilty
Death from the doomed

Pain from the pining
Dearth from the dining
Reign from the tomb

Load from the laden
Grief from the slated
For Reaper's repast

God giveth, God taketh,
The faithful He staketh,
His laugh will be last.