While everyone may have been thrilled about Goliath going down, not everyone was thrilled about who God chose to accomplish it, and his unyielding faith. David’s brothers despised him, and later Saul’s envy was so out of control David spent years in hiding and constant flight.
Are we willing for God’s deliverance to come through the faithful hand of someone else? Someone whose life might cast a shadow over our own–and might that shadow look a little like envy or contempt?
Then he took his staff in his hand, chose five smooth stones from the stream, put them in the pouch of his shepherd’s bag…
I go down to the valley
where Goliath begs to be felled;
from where he is a mite
scaling the footprint of God.
But he has become a giant,
and I find solace in the crowd;
comfort in the collective
cowardice. All of us
tethered to the same insecurities;
fastened by familiar fright.
United we stand
against our own success.
Pity the poor lad who dares
divide us asunder
with just a fist full of faith
and a pocket full of rocks.
I have to confess–God has been nothing but GOOD to me. Lately I feel as though I am living under the Divine downpour of His love and mercy. At every turn I hear His still, small voice of compassion–from the wellsprings of His goodness–bubble up from inside of me; cleansing and healing, and washing all the debris right out through my tear ducts. I think I would always like to rest in this place. Feels like grace to me…
I have found there
at the end of the day;
dressing my injuries–
drawing the weeping
pouring clean water over
all my sin.
When faith is frayed
on grace I lay
my weary soul.
And still I long
not just go till
the end of the day
to find there was grace
all along the way.
This is a cleave poem. I was first introduced to them while spending a lot of time on a writing/reviewing/critiquing site. This genre, created by Phuoc Tan-Diep, was introduced to the site by a very talented writer. I’ve since discovered that the art of combining more than one poem (I read one that had four poems in total) goes back well before cleave poetry. But, since that is how I learned it this is what it will always be to me.
I also like the ‘cleave’ concept–that each thought leans into and is dependant on the other. We are left with a tapestry of words to wonder over; woven works of art having something truly unique to ponder depending on which way you look at them. And when you read one all together it is like taking a step back to gaze on the complete picture.
Last night I was thinking of Job, and how much better his life was after his suffering was over. God blessed the latter part of his life more than the first. Sometimes we forget that suffering will end, and that, if we are truly trusting it to a faithful heavenly Father, our lives can only be all the better for it. That’s what inspired this one.
Read it through first as one complete poem; then read each side separately. There are three distinct poems or variations of thought in this.
If Job became blessed
more than he was before are
the cruel arrows of those who
plunder wasted, should we mourn for
the suffering, despair? Knowing— they
rise up now and shall
in the end be comforted
Lately, I’m back in poetry mode.
It just happens to me out of nowhere–all I want to do is write poems and be very deep about everything. If I don’t succumb I’ll be completely miserable, so I’m learning to go with it.
This is what came to me this week after encountering someone who seemed terribly cold. This person’s coolness was so tangible it was chilling.
I was thinking about the way that is–that when we have a cold heart we feel somehow justified; like it’s our right. Even if we knew how it affected those around us we wouldn’t care–we couldn’t care, really.
Once coldness sets in, only the warmth of God’s love can deliver us–I know.
Communicable Deep Freeze
A cold heart is contagious:
creeps like osmosis
through the air;
seeps like silica
into the senses,
arteries of faith,
cell, by steely cell.
A numbing invasion
seizing unsuspecting souls
till every beating
heart is congealed
in the bloodlust of trust.
Last night was a sailor’s delight
spilling tipsy smiles without warning
on an unsuspecting June morning.
Just tending my dandelion garden
if you have a nice lawn, I beg your pardon
weeds have a certain beauty, too
To savour–just change your point of view
Cyber bully throws a punch
flailing words like
dipped in bitter venom
across a sea of nanobytes
can’t you see.
Come on, surf with me tonight
let’s ride this Bomb till it breaks.
Cyber scammers ride the wave, too,
ever eager to ply their trade
on cyber seekers ever eager
to make a lazy catch.
Ankle Busting easy;
these Snappers yield a rich
Cyber predator stalks his
prey–a sullen child with perfect
trust and forbidden fruit;
no one to protect.
Eat It up.
Just Dropping In,
Cyber-fling brings two
reckless hearts to ruin,
chatting up a tempest
as the unsuspecting
languish from pilfered
Surf these murky waters
hold on tight.
Cyber City Peaks tonight
what are you waiting for?
Grab your board and surf
the net–just keep away from
silent stalker of delectable delights
sitting before the refrigerator door
monk at the altar of a grudging god
beggar at the gates of the callous affluent
piously awaiting that blessed cornucopia
trove of tuna pâté and salmon Quiche
dribbles of leftover fried chicken and Alfredo sauce
so much like me
so often sitting on the steps of sumptuous expectations
silent stalker of dreams just out of reach
sister in the habit of having the door close in my face
vagrant wandering the back roads of my own ambitions
devoutly devoted to that blessed belief
elusive illusion that somehow
abundant fulfillment will shower me
the next time that door opens
there it will have been all along
As a believer, I love the Easter season. As a not-so ‘politically correct’ Christian I’m not so much into chocolate bunnies and eggs. Let me rephrase that: may it not even be imagined that I might be trashing chocolate in any of its many mouth-watering amalgamations–it’s just that they have no significant meaning for me in relation to having my sins forgiven and my life restored. Although, a therapeutic dose of chocolate goes a long way in alleviating many an ill. Isn’t that a proverb somewhere?
I also don’t expect most people to ‘get it’ the way I do. It’s up close and personal for me. You can’t really appreciate an oasis till you’ve been wandering around in the desert dying of thirst for a while.
As someone who really does believe the resurrection message I don’t think there could be a bigger picture of people coming face to face with Jesus, for the first time, in a tangible telling way than that of the two men crucified beside him.
Like most of us, they mocked at first. So much for a ‘no show’ God who never bothers to make an appearance when I need him most. What has God ever done for me? There was no reason for pretenses here. And yet, one man’s heart softened and repented, while the other’s was filled with disdain and loathing.
The rest were nowhere near comprehending this. Some were just in the crowd watching with genuine curiosity; even compassion. Some were walking right on by, and some were forced a little nearer than they wanted to be–like the man who was made to carry the cross.
Perhaps, like the two thieves, the most critical place to get to is ‘face to face’ with the cross and our own undoing. No more excuses, no escape plans, not even the remotest possibility of earning any favor. Just the opportunity to accept it . . . or not.
two men out of borrowed time
walk the green line, fulminate
railing bane on spittle chime
gawking crowds who love to hate
two men feel the twisted ropes
that tear through flesh and raucous screams
two asphyxiating hopes
sucking marrow from their dreams
two men who never learned to live
now required of them to die
raging criminals must give
payment for their crime
two hurl insults spewing hate
at a callous stolid god
his failure to abet, berate
the acrimonious swift rod
two are raised to hang and thresh
as silent from the ground is lifted
the hideous, grisly, shocking flesh
crusted, bleeding, seeping, sifted
and one would see a lunatic
and one Divine descent
one a monstrous casualty
and one the offering rent
one would damn an impotent being
and ask what of his claim
and one with comprehending seeing
would hang his head in shame
one would see in blood’s reflection
the filth encrusted deep
and hear in anguish’s inflection
pardon for depravity
and one would leave this cold world railing
not see the crimson ransom, dear
nor comprehend salvation’s failing
as the Father’s coming near
but one would suckle mercy’s breast
born of faith’s unfailing womb
and carried to eternal rest
be spared for ages come, the tomb