Gethsemane

There in the garden,

When the moon was high and day became night,

And the still trees overlooked our path,

You stopped us along the verdant passage,

And told us to wait, to pray,

Then you left, but I needed to follow,

For I had followed you that far,

And I would continue to do so as long as you needed me,

And so I watched your hushed footsteps,

Heard the gentle crushing of leaves,

Your tempered breathing,

And even through the shadowy figures,

Cast by trees and shifting clouds,

I could see you kneel down,

To the cold, solid earth beneath your tired feet,

You cried, and you shook,

You trembled and dug your hands into the soil,

Sobs escaping your lips,

Asking for another way, pleading for your Father's will,

And as you prayed, and broke,

Beads of crimson blood formed on your fevered brow,

And I longed to kiss that brow,

To calm you, to ask of you,

To tell you I am your friend,

And I've followed you this far,

And I won't stop.

But your look of longing to be alone was evident,

As you spread your hands,

Lifting them toward the clouded heavens,

Beyond the boundaries of tears,

And in full surrender, humility,

Your voice ascended in words I could not understand,

I nearly came to your side in aid when you rose to your feet,

But stumbled,

Fell back to your knees in weakness,

A weary spirit, a tired body,

A heart of love,

Love that caused your entire being to be torn in two,

That brought you pain, humility,

Victorious death,

And I was blind to how much you longed for me,

For your people,

For them to live with you in perfect peace,

In a world without sin,

... and this was the only way.

Please don’t be afraid, little one,
I know you’re crying because you’re scared,
and your rosy smile faded away,
when you last saw them leave you,
you vividly remember their promise to you,
they made when they left your room,
with grateful kisses they promised to come back,
and waved to you at the window,
it was only meant to be a moment,
that you were not in their care,
but fate had its way that warm, summer night,
when the moon was only a sliver,
in the endless, starless sky,
and the tempered breeze came subtly,
caressing your tear struck cheeks,
the first night you feel asleep without their lullabies,
the first night no story was read in soft ascending words,
no blankets tucked to your chin,
no dreamy kisses planted on your forehead,
and now I listen,
as you cry yourself to sleep every night,
as you remember them,
those loving two who left and did not return,
you miss them more every day,
and I am afraid to take their place,
in understanding I am incapable,
of filling the void,
the emptiness that eats at you inwardly,
so I sit at your door,
and wait until dreams captivate you enough,
for me to walk in and kiss you goodnight,
hoping tomorrow will bring more than pain,
that I might fill your emptiness a little more each day.

Dear Jesus...

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be looking for. I was aimlessly wandering, with some purpose, but the paths were broken and I was so afraid that my greatest wishes would pass by my eyes, before they were brave enough to look. I suppose they were fixed on the ground below me, trying desperately not to lose my place. But I trusted you, my lamp and my light. I’d nothing to fear, for you, the all knowing God, were more than able to bring about what you desired, when and as you pleased. You knew what was best for me, when I had no clue in the world. But do you remember the day you opened my eyes, opened them to what you had planned? I know you waited long to show me, and I must have been impatient. But you showered down blessings in unending abundance, as you continue to do, every day of this life. Oh, faithful Father, may I no longer be blind to these marvelous things you have prepared for me. For you have taught me to seek with my heart, to carry forth in great expectancy, with faith of a child. May I not go quietly. May I not go uncertain. But may I go with grace, guided by the eternal light which has no boundaries, no limitations. Be it your will, Oh Lord, that I touch every heart, change every life, walk every road, and face every storm that you have set for me. I will go, and I will not be afraid, for now it is clear as daylight to me, what I shall be in search for.
But oh, merciful Father, I am consumed, taken, overwhelmed by my world of sin, which robs me from you, this dark evilness which comes upon me, washing over me like a wave - mighty and mysteriously strong. And I ask that you, Father, would graciously reach down to touch even me, the sinner that I am, and hold me so that I do no fall. Keep me from shaking. And deliver me again and again, that I might be made holy and blameless in your sight. For you, Jesus, are my spring of living water, and in you I am made complete. From your well do I draw my very breath, and trust that when I am firmly planted in you, I am sustained. By your fathomless grace, make it so.
In your precious name I pray, Amen.

Infant King

the stable was not expecting company,

and the quiet sanctuary of cedar wood and tumbling mounds of sweet smelling hay,

were not prepared for their searching visitors,

their heavenly guest,

for the hopeful faces that soon wandered in,

not a moment too late in time,

not a second too soon by the count of heaven,

and I remember the young virgin’s face,

the smile still clinging to faith unspoken,

the tear-struck cheeks stained with earth’s soil,

and the musty smell of donkey still lingering on her tattered clothes,

it was just how I had envisioned her,

the soft spoken woman,

carrying so much more than a baby in her womb,

but a holy life, a perfect,

sinless savior, the darling of heaven and earth,

the world and I had not seen him yet,

only silently anticipated his humble arrival,

to our stable unworthy,

strewn with golden straw and what remained of the feed,

unkept and uncertain, abandoned,

yet it must have been perfect for him,

I feared the shepherds would not arrive in time,

to watch in wonder as he breathed his first breath of air,

heavy with aging hay,

and crisp December skies,

but they came with looks of expectation,

their curious eyes ever moving, seeking the promised babe,

and the wise men followed not long after,

bearing gifts in abundance,

the mysterious aroma of myrrh, mingling with the musty air of the stable,

in reverence did they come before the infant king,

bowing, overcome with blameless submission,

and I remember watching the father and mother,

leaning gently over their newborn son,

the child they delivered, who had come to deliver them,

and they marveled at him,

stroking the rose petal skin on his precious face,

singing sweetly the lullabies they once knew,

and praying for answers,

reveling in the wonder of the night, did they inwardly acclaim their king,

and smiled as the whimpers were hushed by the performance of the dancing stars,

and the eternal flow of silvery light,

pouring in through the open walls of the stable,

gracing the manger where he lay,sleeping soundly,

yes, even the moon watched from afar.

Santa Maria di Castellebate

The busy streets were glazed over with a glossy sheet of fresh rain, as we happily made our way through the little foreign town.

The evening set in briskly, and the quiet homes were lit with warm, toned, and inviting candle light.

Frosty windows glowed with amber flames coming from the roasting hearths, as the chimneys puffed clouds of smokey, touchable air, like grandfather’s pipe.

And we gloved our hands to keep out the cold, shoving them into the very bottoms of our worn pockets.

The bright horns of passing cars beeped in the distance, and the vivacious allegro of fiddles could be heard from the crowded dance floors and smokey taverns.

The late night ships, riding humbly into the harbor, could be heard just above the pulling tide beneath, the waters breathing and washing the shore, carrying and playfully splashing along the bows. The ocean sang.

We stopped to listen in reverence, along the cobbled street, as the engulfed cathedral hummed with haunting chants, ringing endlessly along the stone walls, and carrying out through the hushed village.

Faces in awe, eyes closed as each passerby paused to hear the harmonies and aching melodies fill them, causing them to tremble.

Young lovers held hands as they brushed past us, and innocently, blissfully danced along the stony paths when in admiration of the humble places.

There was no worry, no care but all to see, and little time to do so.

We reveled in the wonder of the evening, so filled with mystery and romance, abundant in the showers of rain-made beauty, and starlight shone graciously among the infant trees, kissing their verdant peaks.

All was still.

Evening winds had cleared and left the narrow allies and walkways motionless, afraid to move for fear of disturbing sacred tranquility, and asking nothing of earth.

And all of creation was eager to welcome us into the quaint village, the faraway haven where not dwelled but constant memories and stories so deeply stirred into the earth’s soil, that we could not help but walk along them.

We became part of them.

And as we walked, as we let ourselves be lost in the stories and foreign fables; we left behind part of ourselves.

Parts left to slowly fade and conform to the mysterious ways of where we walked.

The quiet oasis we would see but once, and remember forever.

The Red Chord

Once upon a time...

There was a woman who loved her daughter very much. From the day she came home from the hospital with her, to the day she waved goodbye when she left for college, the woman had eyes only for her little girl. The life of her daughter she held more dear to her than even her own, and prayed night and day that it would be prosperous, fruitful, and lasting.

When her daughter was very young, she learned that there was a Love far greater than what even her mother could offer her, the undying, unconditional love of Jesus. And she fell in love with Him. Her mother rejoiced.

But the little girl grew up, as most young children eventually do, and with that growing up came the loss of what once meant so much. The woman’s daughter found delight in what she once never knew. And soon, she fell out of love with Jesus, and into love with the world. The woman watched as year after year, day after day, her precious daughter slipped away from her first Love. And her heart ached for her, ached for Jesus to bring her daughter back to Him.

One day, when the woman was in the quiet of her room, with grateful hands folded in prayer for her daughter, she pleaded with the Lord to show her what to do. He heard her prayers and answered, placing an assurance within her heart, a confidence, and a peace. When she rose, she walked to another room and pulled from a drawer a strand of red chord. Taking its frayed end in hand, the woman tied the bit of chord to the window of her room so that it hung loosely in the center. When she stepped back to admire it, the woman then prayed again, "dear Jesus, let this chord be a sign of your unending love for my daughter. May it be a symbol of your faithfulness to her, of your redeeming grace, that you might bring her back again into your arms." And so the chord hung for many years.

Then once crisp, autumn night, when the moon could not be seen behind the settling fog, something unexpected and tragical happened. There was a fire in the house of the woman, a relentless, powerful fire that swept over the entire home, devouring everything in its path. It stopped at nothing, and roared and blazed without control, taking and never giving back. The woman escaped in terror, and watched with fear as the fire consumed her house. After much time had passed, and the fire had at last relented, the woman’s eyes grazed over the skeleton-like house. It still stood, what remained of it. And she was grateful her daughter was gone away to college, free from the flame devoured sight.

A day or two had passed, and the woman returned to her blackened home, in hopes of salvaging something, anything. But among the charcoaled rubble, and dusty debris, she found nothing worth trying to restore, nothing that cried for help, until she tilted her heard up toward the peak of the house, her bedroom window, and a small bit of color could be seem among the ashy window frame. Yes, it was the piece of red chord, still hanging frailly on the pane.

The woman covered her mouth with her hand, and fought the lone tear rising to the brim of her eyelid. She closed her eyes and let out a small sight. "Oh, Lord..." she prayed, "even fire could not destroy this chord..." She paused and smiled, tilting her head toward the heavens. "And not even the world can take my little girl from you..."

Welcome Home

Oh, wonderful, you’ve arrived at last! I cannot tell you how long I have awaited your arrival; even I felt an emptiness here without you. Do come in, and make yourself warm by the fire for a moment, then we shall begin. Where are you, you ask? Why, my friend, do you truly not recognize this place? I suppose it has only been spoken of to you. Well then, we have much to see! Come, let me show you to the door; don’t bother locking it behind you. Now, watch your step and do be careful walking on these streets; they’re quite slippery, you know. Lovely, aren’t they? I paved them myself.
Wait ... listen ... can you hear it? Yes, I can too. They are singing again, just as they always are. Everywhere one goes it can be heard, and no one ever tires of it. You see, they are not merely singing with their voices in rising and falling notes, no, surely they are singing from their hearts entirely. For no human voice can fashion such a sound without the power of reason behind it. Join in whenever you please, for once you begin, you won’t ever want to stop.
Look here. This is where the mansions are being prepared. They are breathtaking, I know, so magnificently constructed. And one of these belongs to you, my friend. Yes, you. Would you care to see it? I thought so. I chose this one for you long ago, and knew it would be perfect. With my own hands I adorned it in splendor, painted it in beauty, trimmed it with radiance. Do you like it? Somehow I knew you would. Yes, they are truly here, not just another fable you’ve heard so many of.
Did you manage to steal a glance at the gates on your way in? Sometimes I fear they are overlooked. The children play on them all the time, and yet, not a scratch can be found on a single pearl. They remain flawless.
Oh! Listen again! Can you hear them? Yes, I know you can still hear the voices, but there is something else in the air now. They are the trumpets, ringing in the distance. It’s growing closer, that majestic sound. How glorious their strain flows throughout this place! They are practicing for that Day. Yes, you know the day I speak of. That wondrous Day.
What is behind this door, you ask? My friend, it is something far beyond words or description. You must see it for yourself. And I’ve the key right here in my hand. Beyond this door lies what has been spoken of, all that has been promised. What was, and is, and is to come. Enter with gladness. Enter with humility. Go on now; you’ve nothing to fear.

Calvary

I went up the hill that evening,
when the sun was just nestling into the fold of the valley,
and the moon had found its place above me,
when there before,
not a moment too long ago,
darkness had triumphed over light,
lingering, and covering Calvary with a void,
and blackness so immense, so haunting, so thick,
that one’s hands could almost touch it,
I wasn’t there before,
... I was too afraid to go,
but when all had finally passed,
and the many that gathered returned home mournfully,
I walked up the steep ascent to where the cross,
still stood alone,
motionless, and wounded,
I stood before it in humility,
in shame, hunger, pain, and reverence,
and I stretched my trembling hand,
to run my fingertips along the hard surface,
feeling its defense as the tiny slivers of wood pierced my skin,
it was nothing, I thought, to compare,
and the earth shaded wood was stained,
crimson,
with holy blood not meant to be shed this way,
not even the wood of the cross,
was worthy enough to be stained with this blood,
and below the cross there lay two stakes,
not merely nails,
and they too were discolored with the precious flow that once was,
I bent to pick them up,
and felt their weight in my two hands,
felt their wickedness,
then dropped them in shame,
covering my face with my hands,
not wanting to acknowledge that I,
because of my sinful soul,
was guilty of His death,
that I, in my own wickedness,
drove those stakes into His hands,
without mercy,
hung Him there with my cloak of iniquity,
because I was too human to do otherwise,
because I was consumed by a world of evil,
because I needed the forgiveness only He could give,
because I needed grace,
and grace was received there at the cross,
as my Savior bled and died,
that I might live.

Face of the Father

I tilted my head toward the heavens,

And there before me,

Adorned in light and overwhelming radiance,

Sat a man on the edge of a cloud,

Quietly He sat,

Unmoving, unshaken,

And so entirely magnificent,

My eyes were unworthy to behold Him,

Undeserving to lay upon,

A glance of paradise,

Of mysterious glory and holiness,

Wonderous beauty,

And I had never seen anything perfect before this,

Being trapped in a haven of sin,

Where evil and wickedness lived together,

But He was perfect,

Flawless,

I cast my eyes down in shame of my humanness,

That I, a sinner,

Consumed by my own iniquity,

Could even for a moment believe,

That I was meant to look upon Him freely,

I covered my face with my trembling hands,

And shook my head,

But all of heaven began to sing,

And I felt the healing touch of the Creator,

Who, in all encompassing splendor,

Sat before me,

Raised on clouds and triumphantly exalted,

Magnified,

Seated on the throne above,

And He reached to lay his hand upon me,

Willingly,

Touching even I,

The chief of sinners,

The lowest of all,

And I felt the roughness of His scared hands on my face,

They were there,

Just as were promised to me,

And He brushed a human tear,

From my eyes unable to bear the light,

Whispering...

My child, look into the eyes of your Father,

And I did,

For only a moment, a second in time,

While the world melted around me,

And inwardly did I rejoice,

Knowing I had all of eternity to behold him again.

Spoken Of

He says there is so much more to this life,
Than what human eyes search for,
So much beyond the daily passing dreams,
Unfulfilled, untouched,
Forgotten,
More than worthless yesterdays,
Spent in vain and selfish ambition,
And hidden behind the walls of failure,
There lies hope stored and kept,
And the wishes that missed the stars,
He gives them a reason,
Those humble few he speaks to,
To search for what is to come,
What will be,
To hold fast to the promises made before time,
Then he leaves to find that which he speaks of,
Locked behind vines of wickedness,
Tangled webs of evil,
For he knows what he will find there,
Far beyond these and springing forth from eternal faith,
Will be greater than what even he has fortold.

Daughter of Jesus

Winter wishes,
Breathing from earth,
Hopeful dreams meant to come true,
If only she knew Jesus sees her,
Making dark skies blue,
Turning her heart too,

She cries when no one's,
There to hear her,
Lifts her hands to God above,
Praying for His healing power,
Radiant showers of love,
To never let go of,

There is a dream,
She's holding onto,
And on this winter eve she aks,
That God above would bid it come true,
And the pain would pass,
Soul left to dream at last,

The Father listens,
To her pleading,
Holds her hand and dries her tears,
Listens to her heart so beating,
Broken through the years,
If she could know He's near,

Then maybe hope would,
Finally meet her,
There among her crumbling world,
And she would feel the,
Hands of the Father,
Calming His little girl,
His precious baby girl.

Love Song

God, can you hear me?
I’m crying out with all I am,
Asking You to show me the way,
I’m losing myself again,
The way that it’s always been,
Bring me to light through this pain,

Am I meant to feel this way?
To hold within endless love,
For him, the one my heart seeks,
He’s been here a while now,
So please, Jesus, show me how,
To love him the way that he needs...

God can you hear me?
I’m crying to You again,
Pleading to see Your will,
I just want to do the right,
To find favor in Your sight,
So calm me and make me still,

Am I meant to feel this way?
To silently hold onto,
This love that I have for her,
She’s all that I see sometimes,
And I see You in her eyes,
Should some things be left how they were?...

Is he the one this time?
The one You have saved for me,
My heart tells me not to move on,
But, Lord, I am asking You,
Make this love pure and true,
And tell me if I am wrong,

I praise You for making him,
For placing him here with me,
So I might walk by his side,
And long down this road we’ll go,
Oh, Jesus, make it so,
Be it Your will for our lives...

Is she the one this time?
The only one meant for me,
Teach my heart to feel the right way,
Because I’m falling in love with her,
Love that is true and sure,
God, is she here to stay?

I praise You for making her,
For bringing her here to me,
I marvel at this blessing from You,
And if she is meant to be,
The one You have saved for me,
Then please, Jesus, make it be true...

God, can you hear me?
I’m crying out to You alone,
Am I to be feeling this way?
Teach me your perfect will,
That I might be with You still,
This is the one thing I ask,
Sweet Jesus, I pray.

Mary

I confess to you, Father,

That I am afraid of what is to come in time,

Yet I know you've chosen me for a reason,

To bear your one and perfect Son,

To carry within me,

The King we've been promised from so long ago,

The Messiah who has come to save us,

But, Father, why me?

Yes, me, the common woman that I am,

A sinner, a lowly, ordinary soul,

What could you possibly see in me?

I am unworthy of this divine task,

Of this heavenly honor,

Yet I celebrate the gift of this infant King,

Perfect, dwelling in an imperfect body,

The image of the Almighty in flesh,

Stirring within me, and waiting to enter into our world,

In awe do I place my trembling hand on my stomach,

And cry,

And feel the tiny, kicking feet of this child,

This precious baby boy I will deliver soon,

The one who has come to deliver the world,

How can this be, Father?

Do I truly hold within me the promised Savior?

The perfect King?

The one pure and spotless Lamb?

I await him in wonder,

Beneath the starless, foggy sky,

And I think of him as I breathe the warm scent of stable hay,

I long to reach and touch his face,

Brush my calloused fingers along his flawless skin,

Soft as angel's wings,

Created by the Maker of the universe,

In admiration of the miracle that he is,

I will worship my child, my son,

Your Son...

Welcome, baby Jesus.

Audience

Love sings a sweet song,
That calls to the hopeful,
Reminding them there's reason to try,
And though they've grown weary,
They sing with the ocean,
Lifting their hands to the skies,

And proclaim to the mountains,
As glory and majesty,
Quickly surround them like air,
And strong as the thunder,
Come voices of rising praise,
As worship is heard everywhere,

And there they bow humbly,
Those who seek love alone,
And find it to be drawing them in,
Like waves of the ocean,
Embracing them one by one,
Cleansing and washing their sin,

Turning to praise again,
They lift up holy hands,
Gladly acclaiming their King,
Worthy is He of this,
He who made all things,
Their voices rise and they sing,

And their love sings a sweet song,
Calls from the hopeful,
Reminder of reason to try,
When though they grow weary,
There is One who listens still,
One who is seated on high,

He listens with mercy,
Showers down love and grace,
Giving as He gave His Son,
And that's why they praise Him,
God of the universe,
The glorious audience of one.

How Great Thou Art

"Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder, consider all Thy works Thy hands have made. I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy power throughout the universe displayed. Then sings my soul, my savior God to Thee, how great Thou art, how great Thou art. Then sings my soul, my savior God to Thee, how great Thou art, how great Thou art!"

How can You, God and Creator of all things, love me enough to hold me closer than the entire universe You created by Your own pleasure? I cannot fathom this love. I sing to You, God and my King, for You are holy, perfect, wonderful, and good.

"When through the woods and forest glades I wander, and hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees. When I look down from lofty mountain gradeur, and hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze. Then sings my soul, my savior God to Thee, how great Thou art, how great Thou art. Then sings my soul, my savior God to Thee, how great Thou art, how great Thou art!"

I praise You for Your creation, O Lord. Your work is lovely, beautiful in every way and beyond my understanding. You sing in the hills, and Your gentle eyes are in the waters. You quench the land with Your heavenly rains. May Your name be exalted.

"When Christ shall come with shouts of acclaimation, and take me home, what joy shall fill my heart. Then I will bow in humble adoration, and there proclaim my God how great Thou art! Then sings my soul, my savior God to Thee, how great Thou art, how great Thou art. Then sings my soul, my savior God to Thee, how great Thou art, how great Thou art!"

I long for the day I see You face to face. When I will come home to that place You've promised me so long ago, and enter into Your all encompassing majestic presence, Your glorious throne, and fall to my knees in eternal worship. I will ever lift up holy hands, gladly acclaiming, my God, how great Thou art!

The Ballroom

The dancefloor is empty. I no longer can hear the faint and gentle hum of the final note resounding along these walls. The music faded a long time ago. I did not dance with the others, when moments ago this grand ballroom was filled with laughter and music, twirling and dancing, singing and romance.

And now, it is empty, my only company being the quiet onlookers from above, that are the stars. They dance along open skies and wordlessly invite me to do the same. But I remain still, in the center of the spacious dancefloor, silver moonlight pouring in from the large windows. The ballroom is dark aside from this light, which is given abundantly from the glowing moon. She longs to dance too, but fears to move. I know that fear.

But oh, how romantic, how lovely the thought, if only some humble and rugged soul would then enter this empty room, and gladly take my hand in his, leading me along the soundless and open floor in a graceful waltz. Oh, how elegant. I cannot help but picture it.

There comes a sound from the doors, and there you stand, your face graced with the silver moonlight. You catch my eyes, with a look of one who is weary by day, but so suddenly alive now in spirit. Your smile is free.

My heart is quick to wonder, anxious to know, as are my eyes to watch you come nearer. Will you stay a while, my friend, will you dance with me?

Waiting At The Window

I can see now, her misty eyes,
tears flowing undisguised,
losing count of hopeful sighs,

the frosty window frames her face,
her hair adorned in ribbons and lace,
staring bleakly into winter space,
her head resting in the palm of her hand,
in company of dark skies widely spanned,
wishing for what the evening planned,
her dress becomes wrinkled as she sits alone,
in the quiet room of her snow laden home,
watching as snowflakes dance below,
and her coat hangs loosely beside the door,
brushing the surface of the wooden floor,
wondering if it will ever be worn,
her tender heart beats impatiently,
for the one that she might never see,
the one who promised to come for her that eve,
but his horse is not heard over the rising hills,
as she waits alone at the window sill,
drying tears that come against her will,
he won’t be graced by her beauty tonight,
nor look into eyes over warm candle light,
and she is breathtaking, an elegant sight,
having waited so long for him to arrive,
she is left torn, feeling less than alive,
whispering farewell, and aching inside,
and she closes her eyes just once to try,
to imagine him riding beneath December skies,
to where she waits in the presence of night,
and she can almost see him in that snowy place,
almost touch his cold and wintry face,
knowing their encounter came by grace,
but the last bit of hope leaves her there,
as she unlaces her shoes and lets down her hair,
trying to resist the fall of despair,
her candle melts to its final glow,
as she glances once more at the tumbling snow,
her heart, at last, letting go.

I Tried

saying goodbye this time,
feels like it shouldn’t be,
but I know you need to let go,
we’ve held on for so long,
taking it day by day,
but look what we’ve left show,

I’ll miss every yesterday,
and I’ll miss tomorrow too,
knowing that you won’t be there,
yet somehow I’ll feel you,
in voices and rising air,
and it will be all I can bear,

to just pass you by again,
knowing that things have changed,
the world spins to a new beat,
I’ll try to remember why,
things had to be this way,
and maybe one day you’ll see,

that you were the reason,
hope never left my eyes,
and I thought it never could,
but through gray and stormy skies,
I never loved you less,
I held on just to see if you would,

but now I must say goodbye,
it’ll never come easily,
please go with a loss for words,
because words used to mean so much,
but now they are empty,
those last few to go unheard,

and if you should come back again,
remember I’m waiting here,
lingering hope still alive,
it’s all I can hold onto,
enough to keep loving you,
enough to say that I tried.

Infant King

the stable was not expecting company,
and the quiet sanctuary of cedar wood and tumbling mounds of sweet smelling hay,
were not prepared for their searching visitors, their heavenly guest,
for the hopeful faces that soon wandered in,
not a moment to late in time,
not a second too soon by the count of heaven,
and I remember the young virgin’s face,
the smile still clinging to faith unspoken,
the tear-struck cheeks, stained with earth’s soil,
and the musty smell of donkey still lingering on her tattered clothes,
it was just how I had envisioned her,
the soft spoken woman, carrying so much more than a baby in her womb,
but a holy life, a perfect, sinless savior, the darling of heaven and earth,
the world and I had not seen him yet,
only silently anticipated his humble arrival,
to our stable unworthy,
strewn with golden straw and what remained of the feed,
unkept and uncertain, abandoned,
yet it must have been perfect for him,
I feared the shepherds would not arrive in time,
to watch in wonder as he breathed his first breath of air,
heavy with aging hay, and crisp December skies,
but they came with looks of expectation,
their curious eyes ever moving, seeking the promised babe,
and the wise men followed not long after,
bearing gifts in abundance,
the mysterious aroma of myrrh, mingling with the musty air of the stable,
in reverence did they come before the infant king,
bowing, overcome with blameless submission,
and I remember watching the father and mother,
leaning gently over their newborn son,
the child they delivered, who had come to deliver them,
and they marveled at him,
stroking the rose petal skin on his precious face,
singing sweetly the lullabies they once knew,
and praying for answers,
reveling in the wonder of the night,
did they inwardly acclaim their king,
and smiled as the whimpers were hushed by the performance of the dancing stars,
and the eternal flow of silvery light,
pouring in through the open walls of the stable,
gracing the manger where he lay,
sleeping soundly,
yes, even the moon watched from afar.

He Who Overcomes The Sea

My husband will have blue eyes.

The young Sailor will rise one morning, and all will be fresh and new before him. He will have places to see, promises to fulfill, dreams to live. And though he will at first be unaware, the Sea he is about to ride, which is his coming future, is not known to offer mercy, nor extend grace during storms. And there will be storms, trials, many of them. Because it is simply ... the Sea.

The Sailor will leave his Home he once knew so well, where his family and friends surrounded him; a reliance they became. And he will leave for the harbor, the place he once feared to walk. We will stand with him, and pray, as he bids his farewells and boards the Ship. The Ship is his faith, the trust and hope in which he places fully on the Lord. And this Ship is his own, no one else’s, and he must take great care in sailing it.

The Sailor will leave that morning, that morning remembered by all, and he will face the Sea which has much in store for him, things he never imagined. Terrible things. Frightening things. Enticing things. Evil things. But He will not face them alone, certainly not; he will face them by the strengthening hand of his Ship, his faith, which earnestly seeks to uphold him, to keep him from stumbling. And when the ropes are cut, he will enter into the current of the Sea, taking all that he has, and offering it.

Storms will blow. Waters will collide. Winds will rush. Waves will crash. Rain will fall. And the Sailor will be afraid. He will cry out in the storm, my God, have mercy; save me from this wicked thing! Again and again he will cry out, and when there is no answer, the Sailor will hold fast to his Ship, and ride each storm out. This is hope.

There will come a place in Sea, where the waters are tame and placid, untroubled and smooth. They will appear lovely, calm, as though no unclean thing has touched them. And the Sailor will be tempted to travel these waters, to sail along these slowly moving currents while they last. But these waters are not what they seem. The Sailor knows this. But he will be weary from the storm, in search of traveling with ease. The gentle waves will allure him, draw him in silently, but will he resist? He will. He will refuse the crystal waters, and turn the rudder in another direction, for he knows it would only lead to destruction. He will resist, and turn away.

And finally, on that day, that glorious day, the Sailor and his Ship will return Home. Though he be worn and tired, beaten and tattered, weary and spent, he will be strengthened and renewed all the same. And the Sea will take notice of it. The Ship will rejoice. The Sailor will triumph.

My husband's eyes will be blue, stained with the ocean's waters, for he will have conquered the sea.