Holy Ghost

.


.












You can move the mountains,
Is what I'm told,
Clothe the naked and shamed,
And give the widow someone to hold.

They say you walked on the sea,
As you calmed their raging hearts,
You would not calm the raging spirit,
As you set captives free.

On this mountain, looking out,
I admire the glory that is you,
Oh why is my heart ravaged by doubt,
Before this day is through?

We are people you have formed,
With fear and wonder, you say,
But what of times we fall,
Or curse the path you've laid?

When I choose to abandon you,
And have turned from the Holy Ghost,
I hear a whisper as you pass through,
Now, is when I hold you most.

.

Fireflies

.





.








Fireflies dancing in the cool downpour,
Are lightning over the sea,
Lighthouses near the moor,
Look like bugs to you and me.

Fireflies seem tiny in a consuming sky,
While we search empty caves,
Extinguish our own flames,
Fireflies never ask, why?

.

I Will Hold You as Life Lets Go

.

Walking by moon's light,
arm in arm with you,
Seeing the sky for the first time tonight,
We'll be okay when all is through.

We no longer trust ourselves,
I can no longer believe the world,
But I trust you and you trust me,
I trust this sky and these trees,
And the stars lighting our way.

Feel this night air and believe in its gentle hold,
It has neither enemy nor friend,
It has only to feel cool on our skin
As it flows where its Father has told.

My love, I know the path is dim,
And you see no one in the watch tower,
It seems you've forever lost sight of Him,
And your chance for escape narrows by the hour.

As you long for the warmth of yesterday,
Cursing yourself for being so weak,
I stand by your side with nothing to say,
And swear I hear your heart miss a few beats.

If I could only have three words, one phrase,
To hold you when all meaning leaves your days,
What would it be?


I am here.


.

The Water Vein

.



Underground water flows
underneath tall pines,
within sight of the cherry blossoms,
speaking with rocks as it winds
around saplings who wish to grow.

It freely flows under warm human dwellings
where it hears the laughter of warm children,
with no care or trouble in the world.

The cool, clear water sloshes and splashes
against night black stone walls,
while ten feet above farmers build clay red walls
to hold their dirt.

The translucent stream rises above the ground
in a few places where the toads will play and
the children will drink,
those who know where the best water is found.

Suddenly the water sinks lower and deeper
into a narrow and lonely crevice
where it finally sees its reflection on the damp ceiling,
and starts asking

have I truly lived,

or did I watch

while others did?

Slowly the water trickled into the sea,
Almost as if it were never here.

.

Goodbye

Well, after reading this post for the first time in a couple months, I decided to remove it. Either I was living in a fantasy land when I wrote this, or I truly was about to break free from something terrible. I hope it's the former, because I am mostly content now and see it as a very silly post. At the very least, it was immature.

I am leaving this space on the blog, along with the comments, to remind me of whatever it was I was feeling that day. Besides, it's my blog. I can do what I want!

T-Shirts

.

















T-Shirts (What We Should Be Known For)
words and music by derek webb

they'll know us by the t-shirts that we wear
they'll know us by the way we point and stare
at anyone whose sin looks worse than ours
who cannot hide the scars of this curse that we all bare

they’ll know us by our picket lines and signs
they’ll know us by the pride we hide behind
like anyone on earth is living right
and isn’t that why Jesus died
not to make us think we’re right

chorus
when love, love, love
is what we should be known for
love, love, love
it’s the how and it’s the why
we live and breathe and we die

they’ll know us by reasons we divide
and how we can’t seem to unify
because we’ve gotta sing songs a certain style
or we’ll walk right down that aisle
and just leave ‘em all behind

they’ll know us by the billboards that we make
just turning God’s words to cheap clichés
says “what part of murder don’t you understand?”
but we hate our fellow man
and point a finger at his grave

chorus

they'll know us by the t-shirts that we wear
they'll know us by the way we point and stare
telling ‘em their sins are worse than ours
thinking we can hide our scars
beneath these t-shirts that we wear


Why do I accept a t-shirt Christianity? Why am I not angered that we, as good 'ol American Christians, try to reduce Jesus to a few clichéd sayings, even when we know that it takes something deeper to change lives? (FYI: I've got nothing against Christian t-shirts in the literal sense, for those reading this messy blog entry)

Do I accept these things because I do not believe that my Lord and Savior is worth the effort? Is it because I am so self-absorbed that I can't take time to do something about my own surface faith, much less that of the American Church as a whole? This is a hard thought to entertain, but it's harder to accept that I've accepted it. But I love God! I get emotional (on the inside at least) when the "words I need to hear" are spoken. I can even sense the love of God in others. And while I'm boasting, I genuinely desire to treat other humans with respect, and I believe I have done this fairly consistently.

In the end, though, do I believe that God is truly the Beginning and the End? If God is all that is real, why consume myself with everything that is false and fading? I love my friends, my earthly family, my former classmates, my coworkers, my church family. But they will all be gone soon. So will I. My life as I know it will end incredibly soon.

But if God is who we say he is, who we know he is, then why are we wasting time pretending that this world is what it's all about?

God, how I know that nothing in this world is worth sacrificing an intense longing for Jesus. If I need to move to the Arctic to immediately enter into a life of praise, I should do that without pausing for thought. If I need to praise God on my face with friends around looking confused and embarrassed for me, I should have no reservations. If I only need to sit and stare at the wall and think about how mercilessly I have betrayed my creator, then that is what I must do. If I enter into praise in complete stillness and silence, even then I shouldn't worry if I am being Christian enough. Forget what the voices say, especially with my own often being the one straight from Hell. There is only one voice I need.

As a true (false?) Christian Hypocrite, even as I write these words, I know that I will have abandoned this thought by morning. What feels like a personal revelation now will soon feel like more words I wrote just to see if anyone is listening. Maybe someone will remind me of the words I wrote when I put on my t-shirt.

Behold the Lamb of God

How do I know that Jesus Christ is real, and that He is really God? I know because He shatters my insides when I least expect it. You see, I'm not a crier. I haven't cried in a couple years, if not much longer. It seems my eyes only leak when I am torn inside on a deep level, and I try to live my life in a way that prevents that from happening.

But I wept last night. I wept for my hurt. I wept for the hurt of the world. I wept because I am sick of betraying my Savior. But most of all, I wept because He made me remember how real He is.

I'm a little embarrassed that God is using a Christian musician to break me into pieces. For one, it's cliched to become emotional through music. Second, I've been known to declare much modern Christian music as little more than a commercial distraction, lacking in heart and true praise. And there's nothing I hate more than being revealed as a hypocrite. I no longer feel that way, as God has already softened my heart to hear the message, instead of criticizing the musicians.

I have listened to Andrew Peterson's Behold the Lamb of God perhaps twenty times. It's the most beautiful telling of the entire Christmas story I've ever heard. Still, it's not something I would let myself get emotional about. I was above that, I told myself.

Last night I decided to put in the Behold the Lamb of God concert dvd (it came with the cd, so why not?). The room was dark and quiet, and I was alone. Since it was 1:00 a.m., everyone else was asleep. No one but God could see me. Yet, song after song, I fought the tears. I somehow told myself that I would not embarrass myself, even if I was the only person around. But God held out longer than me. Before long, I could no longer discern the difference between the cry of the children of Israel and the cry of my hardened heart. The group of musicians, clearly in tears themselves, bellowed:

Deliver us, deliver us
Oh Yahweh, hear our cry
And gather us beneath your wings tonight

I could feel God's answer within my soul. He wants me under His wings. He misses me even as I reject His perfect love daily. As I feel God move me, the now red-eyed musicians continue:

'Jerusalem, Jerusalem
How often I have longed
To gather you beneath my gentle wings'

My stone heart shattered in that instant. God did it. His beautiful Son did it. Peterson and his group of musicians were only the missionaries, willing to let God be the center of everything, to the point that their names or voices no longer even mattered.

Now what I need is strength. I need strength to bear the change as God puts the pieces together and decides who I will become. I trust Him, but it is hard for a stubborn child like me.

.