Update

Hey, the blog has moved over to wordpress. Check it out here

Hope Stirs

4-7-11

Malnutrition of the mind is sparking
A cause inside my bowels that fights
Against the statues of glory and holiness
A constant degrading of inward joy

Would that gravity reversed
And all my plans ended in You
Every muscle of the souls strains
To reverse the cancer caused by self

Hope stirs deep at the thought
Of upwardly flying into the day
Where every weight of sin falls
Unteathered from our weary frames

When mindless repetition of electric shock
Will be traded for the warmth of a shared cup of tea
And pulling myself bleeding through sceptic mud
Will be forgot in the light of our conversation

These battles of the soul, these fights and flights
For inward survival will one day culminate
In outward death but inward life
As all we are is clothed in You

My descent to daily hell is slowed
As my brain returns its scopes to the day
Where faith will be flooded with sight
And our dreams will be shown to have been reality

Crammed

Earth's crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God;

But only he who sees, takes off his shoes -

The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

All This to Say

by the band Sleeping At Last

all this to say,
our future is a blank page
that we chose to pour ourselves into
when God pressed play.

and we'll drag our pens
into these parallel lines
to record and to articulate
everything we find.

as decades unlace,
we'll pause and carefully trace;
our shadows are puddles of ink
that our memory saves.

layer by layer, the framework was formed
on an epic of paper:
we breathe to explore.
fast-forward motion
will gracefully show
the flickering story
that all of our sketches unfold.

before we were born
God gently told us the truth,
but understanding is something that stops
as our bodies bruise.

so we'll concentrate,
constantly rewinding tapes.
was the ghost just a glare on the lens
that our minds create?
our minds create...
when God pressed play.

layer by layer, the framework was formed
on an epic of paper:
we breathe to explore.
and fast-forward motion
will gracefully show
the flickering story
that all of our sketches unfold.

---

From the Album Storyboards
All Lyrics Copyright 2009, Sleeping At Last

Love

Love

7-9-10

I thought that love could be defined
wrapped around the mind
and made to make them mine

I found instead that it defends
the rights of neighbors, enemies, friends
It does not buy, it only spends
and is spent
all for love

Love is a sacrifice
Flowing freely from the will
Love will make your knuckles white
and churn your stomach in anticipation
not of rejection, but at the prospect of crucifixion

A cup appears in a garden
The moment of decision
Love breaks through
Praise the Savior whose blood is in my veins
Let His genes transform me into His image
Spirit of Love, come in power

Eyes to See

Spring 2011

Is it really true?
That the season revolve around You?
Shrouds of introspection
Seem to dim nature's reflection
Of the one who spoke the Son's perfection
As well as ocean's blue

Why do memories fade?
Like shadows hid in shade
The brightness of our frailty
Blinds my eyes from seeing glory
Beneath the days there is a story
That speaks beauty to the unafraid

Can I really stand?
Is there power in Your hands?
To keep my mind from sleeping
To stake awake from only dreaming
Of reality. There is constant healing
From the Song of God in the heart of man

I'll fix my eyes on Christ
The Perfector of my life
Whose obedience has filled with blood
Every heart that beats to the rhythm of His drum
All creation unfurls with its colors and its hums
A wedding song for a purified wife

Is It Worth the Time It Takes

Is It Worth the Time It Takes
3-16-11

Is it worth the time it takes
The precious hours it snakes away from grasping fingers
Ever reaching for yesterday, but never holding the gilded present

Is it worth the time it steals
From existing, from exchanging
glances, words, thoughts

Is it worth the time it takes
Or does it leave you wondering what you are doing
Where you are going and why you are talking instead of stopping
Your mouth and simply embracing each second as it passes

What are they worth anyway- Seconds feeding minutes
Feeding hours that drain life
Can they be redeemed- Can they be exchanged for trinkets or love
And if they could would we- And if we would should we-
What are they worth- These microscopic measures that create our existence
Grains of sand bouncing against each other and creating a frame
In which I can love, laugh, or sleep
Like my heartbeat I am never aware of their existence, these slivering shimmering
Splinters of time rolling into clouds of being on which I sit
And sometimes do nothing.

Is it worth the time it takes
To prepare, to act, to create- What is the real purpose
Of what we do-Could we ever put a price on our actions-
If we did would we be wasting our precious commodity-

True, we are all paid alike. Regardless of skill or know-how
86,400 units of life are given to each and every creature.
The lover embracing his girl receives the same measure of life
Given to the man about to throw himself from Sears Tower

A second cannot be regained. The system strictly guards
Its dispensation and thwarts all attempts to relive our pasts
However dear they are to our hearts. They cannot be regained
Only refabricated in ink dots and TV pixels.

Is it worth the time it takes
To pour seconds into another, knowing they will never be regained-
Knowing that they will only be thrown to the ground
Like priceless drops of rain, shattering as they fall-

Is it worth the time it takes to review
The time we've spent and the ways we've spent it-
Or is hindsight as pointless as buying a wallet-

Is it worth the time
Just to sit here and be with You tonight
A constant stream of two-way thought
Uninterrupted by audible words
Crickets screech and moon pours down
I know that I am found

Yes. It is worth every second.
Just to be with You coats my moments in gold
Untold worth is found in knowing Your heart
If I ever reach the grave I will be able to look back and say
I truly lived.

A Day of Rest

A Day of Rest

As we spin with the world
Rotating among
The stars and particles
Swirling around us
Tides ebbing and flowing
The moon and the sun rising
We must command
Ourselves
To simply stop.
To simply be.

Breathe in the air
Not polluted by hurry
And breathe out the spirit
Of mercy and peace.

-Anne Jackson

The Echo

“The tragedy of the world is that the echo is mistaken for
the Original shout. When our back is to the breathtaking
beauty of God, we cast a shadow on the earth and fall in
love with it. But it does not satisfy. The books or the
music in which we thought the beauty was located will
betray us if we trust them…For they are not the thing
itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not
found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a
country we have never yet visited.”
—John Piper, The
Dangerous Duty of Delight

Glory pt.2

12-4-10

The mystery is Christ. Through Him the worlds were made and by Him they hold together. He is the source of that beauty our inner selves catch glimpses of in everything. Christ is what our hearts are really longing for when we run after beautiful things. When we enjoy music or see a great painting, when we read great novels or see a sunrise, we are really taking in the glories of Christ. We only see them through a dark glass but one day our hearts will be able to eat up every delightful bit of Christ.

The mystery is Christ in you. This great God, who is the hidden object of all of our very apparent longings has chosen to reveal Himself to us in the person of Jesus Christ. Jesus, the Word, is the closest we will get this side of heaven to understanding the beauty we long for. The wonderful thing is that, by dying on the cross for us, God has made a way that Christ can live in our hearts. We the redeemed possess within our hearts the answer to our soul's questioning. The end and object of all our longings has not only been made known to us, He has chosen out of love to live in our hearts. There is nothing more intimate than the indwelling Christ. That the God of the universe would choose to scrub us clean and invade our minds is the greatest mystery in history. That He would not leave us as we are but change even our desires is the greatest reversal anyone will ever know. Through it all we find Christ working in our lives to receive praise.

The mystery is Christ in you, the hope of glory. We cannot yet say "Christ in you: glory" because we have not yet attained all of the glory our hearts long for. While He has sent the Spirit into our hearts, it is as a guarantee that better things are to come. Nothing is better than being with God, but the change we will experience in the future is equal to or greater than the change we have already experienced. Just as we look back now on our past life and find no way of comparing it with the glories of life with Christ, we will one day wonder how we ever lived outside of the physical presence of the Lord.

My heart loves great paintings, but finds no contentment there. My soul hungers after creative music, but knows no fulfillment in melodies alone. My mind longs for prose and poetry, but never comes away satisfied.

It is because these are only mediums, methods of communication. My minds eye wants a clear picture, but it doesn't know of what. When I hear stories of sacrifice and love I feel I'm getting warmer. There is a deadness in 'great novels' whose themes are the degeneracy of our stupid race. Something inside me wants not only excellence in form, but meaning in content. Futility is found in everything other than Christ. Even the wisest man knew it all was meaningless. The mystery was kept hidden in Solomon's time. If He had known mystery, Christ in us, he would have joined Paul in saying "I have counted everything as garbage compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Jesus Christ my Lord.

Now with His blood in my veins and His mind in my brain I will reject second bests. I will no longer settle for the methods of beauty used to tell the story of futility. My heart refuses to accept this world's portrayal of emptiness and brokenness. I will continue to believe in love and forgiveness in the face of human bitterness and apathetic seclusion. I will continue to trust in the faithfulness of God as my only hope of glory.

I see a man nailed to a scaffold. Between gasps of blood and cold air He is able to say "it is finished."

Jesus Christ, the hope of glory.

Glory pt.1

12-4-10

This is the mystery: Christ in you, the hope of Glory. Col 1:27

The mystery is that which was hidden before. But it is more than that. If something is suddenly revealed we call it a surprise, not a mystery. Somehow this mystery was anticipated. From the puzzles of our hearts to the creaking of our bones, all of our being has ached to know the answer.

The question being: "is there any hope of glory?"

I see a sculpture of King David, Michelangelo's master piece. He is a picture of the glory of man: himself. But the marble eyes look longingly into thin air, wishing for something unseen by art critics.

I see a young child sitting by a fire. His eyes are lit by epochs his grandfather tells of love and war and hate and forgiveness. Nothing inside him doubts that the beauty is true, but his grandfather knows that they are only far fetched tales to inspire the dumb. But are they?

All art, all living, and all teaching seems to have wrapped up in it somewhere this hope that we are more than just blood and bones. We cannot deny death, but even more than a fear of extinction we have a longing for something else. C.S. Lewis called our world the shadow lands. The beauty we see here seems to catch for a moment what our hearts are really straining after. It is like the boy in Lois Lowry's The Giver who sees color for an instant and is powerless to communicate it. Nothing in our language really captures this longing of the heart for what is truly good, this dissatisfaction with what we have always known. We cannot use words like 'beauty' or 'majesty' because their meanings have been sullied by a thousand lesser uses. 'Glory' is possibly the closest living relative in our modern language.

Last Notes

By Shaun Groves

There is a part of me
That's only visiting
Torn from eternity
A stranger here

The awkward mingling of
The loveless and beloved
So far from things above
While I am here

So when the last notes of my
Soul's summer symphony
Go stealing through this old world's
Cold garden gates
I will hold no fear

As You close my book of hours
And the hands of heaven carry me
Carry me home to stay
O Death where is your sting
Your tears and tremblings
His peace is lingering even now

O Grave the battle's fought
Your vict'ry has been lost
To Christ who gave it all
To take me now

O Grave the battle's fought
Your vict'ry has been lost
To Christ who gave it all
To take me home

My Knowledge

Author Unknown

Though men confront the living God
With wisdom than his Word more wise
And leaving paths apostles trod
Their own devise:
I would forsake, and flee,
O Christ, the living Way, to Thee!

I know not what the schools may teach,
Nor yet how far from truth depart;
One lesson is within my reach-
The Truth Thou art;
And learning this, I learn each day
To cast all other lore away.

I cannot solve mysterious things,
That fill the schoolmen's thoughts with strife;
But oh! What peace this knowledge brings-
Thou art the Life!
Hid in Thy everlasting deeps
The silent God His secret keeps.

The Way, the Truth, the Life, Thou art!
This, I know; to this I cleave;
The sweet, new language of my heart-
"Lord, I believe."
I have no doubt to bring to Thee;
My doubt has fled, my faith is free!

More

By Andrew Peterson

This is not the end here at this grave
This is just a hole that someone made
Every hole was made to fill
And every heart can feel it still--
Our nature hates a vacuum

This is not the hardest part of all
This is just the seed that has to fall
All our lives we till the ground
Until we lay our sorrows down
And watch the sky for rain

There is more
More than all this pain
More than all the falling down
And the getting up again
There is more
More than we can see
From our tiny vantage point
In this vast eternity
There is more

A thing resounds when it rings true
Ringing all the bells inside of you
Like a golden sky on a summer eve
Your heart is tugging at your sleeve
And you cannot say why
There must be more

There is more
More than we can stand
Standing in the glory
Of a love that never ends
There is more
More than we can guess
More and more, forever more
And not a second less

There is more than what the naked eye can see
Clothing all our days with mystery
Watching over everything
Wilder than our wildest dreams
Could ever dream to be
There is more

They

by Wendell Berry

I see you down there, white-haired
among the green leaves,
picking the ripe raspberries,
and I think, “Forty-two years!”
We are the you and I who were
they whom we remember.

Truth

And I've collected all these thoughts
And I'm dying just to lose them
And if your words are true or not
I'll die trying to prove them
But I'll just have to accept
That my mind is so inept
And the only thing that's left
For me to do is to trust you
-Matthew Thiessen