Mutiny of the Shadows- a poem

Shadows are everywhere.
They shift and change spots,
Always connected to my sole.
I can’t escape them.
Even if I could fly, they would still find
A way to follow me.

But now in a world going dark
They are mutinying on me.
My shadow pulls away from me-
Chasing me, surrounding me.
I have nowhere to run or hide.
I am defenseless and shrouded over.

I call to God as the shadows swarm.
In my despair I cry for shelter.
The shadows draw in closer,
Bearing their claws and fangs.
All seems lost to me,
As if my soul is forfeited to the dark.

Then suddenly light, light all around.
I am pulsating beneath the skin
With bright, blinding light.
I know that the Lion of Judah has come-
To defend me, to drive back the night,
And to destroy the dark about me.

It is nothing I do that erodes
This darkness about me,
Only this great and good Lion.
His roar blasts out and shatters the dark.
The light runs out along the ground and in the air
Like a nuclear blast, rippling outward.

Finally I rise, as the Lion approaches.
I try to look him in the eyes,
But there is such light and power there
That I am forced to look away.
I mumble something like a thanks
But it feels weirdly pathetic.

The Lion licks my forehead and says,
“You need not thank me. It was my pleasure.
The only thing you had to do was
Call out, and you did. Now you are marked
As mine forever. I empower you to
Go out into the darkness and bring my light.”

As he speaks I realize I am changing.
I am changing both inside and out.
Inside, my heart is bursting with light and joy,
And outside I am turning into a warrior.
Armor, a sword, shield and helmet-
All made of crystal- grew around me.

Where he had licked my head
There grew a blindingly bright white cross.
Then the Lion said, “Go. Push back the darkness.
Fight that which almost destroyed you.
It will not be easy, but it will succeed
Because I have sealed you as my own.”

I take up my sword and shield
And make a march towards the dark horizon.
The Great Lion walks with me awhile,
But eventually he vanishes.
He is not gone though-
I can still feel him with me.

He said it will not be easy,
And I pray for strength as I walk.
The darkness draws nearer.
I meet and recruit other warriors
Ordained by the Great Lion.
The battle will be long, but the reward is worth it.

My heart is at peace knowing that he is there.
Knowing also that I have fellow soldiers
Fighting faithfully at my side.
We are gaining strength and drawing closer to the dark.
It is time to take the fight to the darkness, To rebel on those mutinous shadows.

Jesus is not a Nice Guy.- an article

The title probably shocks you, but it’s true. I am not saying that he’s mean, or sadistic, or tyrannical. But neither is Jesus like Mr. Rogers, Fred Penner, or Barney the Dinosaur- those guys are what we would call nice guys. Now, it’s true that Jesus loves children, and he bears with his disciples as they struggle to understand his teachings, and that he forgives prostitutes, tax collectors and even the Romans who tortured and crucified him. These examples and more don’t prove that he’s a nice guy- they demonstrate the traits of love, compassion, grace, mercy and long-suffering.

What is nice guy anyways? A nice guy is a peace-lover, some one who is non-confrontational, who always agrees with the demands of those around him, and who listens to non-angry music- like Yanni or Bette Midler. Does that sound like the Jesus you know? Does it sound like the kind of Jesus you would want to know? My hope is that you would say no. See, while Jesus is loving, compassionate, gracious, merciful and long-suffering he is so much more than that.

Look at the gospel story- every time the Pharisees approached him did he become all complacent and non-confrontational? Quite the opposite- he challenged them, he gave them a verbal licking and sent them packing to tend their wounded pride and self-righteousness. He got righteously indignant and threw tables when the merchants set up shop in the temple. He drove out demons- how could a demon be afraid of a nice guy? He fought Satan and his schemes of ruin for our souls when he died on the cross. Look elsewhere, like Revelation, where he is described as a fierce rider with his robe dipped in blood. Does that sound more like Mr. Rogers or William Wallace? The prophecy in Genesis about Eve’s seed crushing the serpent’s head referred to Christ- would a nice guy kill a snake by stomping his brains out? Not likely.

That’s my whole point here- Christ is not a nice guy. He is a hero- a man who will defend his Bride, the church. How does one defend someone else? Do you sit around a conference table telling your enemies that you want to avoid a conflict- knowing full well that they have already determined in their mind to attack? You do if you’re a nice softie of a guy. But Jesus was not soft- he was firm, stern, steeled in his mind about his mission to save our souls and win our hearts as his Bride. He bled for us; he suffered valiantly and still came out on top- just like a hero would. I am not reducing Jesus to merely a hero here- because heroism implies that he died for someone worthwhile- but that he was more than a nice guy. We were sinners when Christ died for us. More than that because we weren’t even born yet- he died for the thought of us being sinners in this day and age.

Sadly many of us as Christians have come to adopt this view of Jesus as a really nice guy, and we as sinners aren’t really that bad. The result has been a complacency of our hearts and our mission as Christ’s ambassadors to take the gospel to the world. We are called to reflect Christ, and Christ is a determined, fierce Lion of Judah. It’s just like in C.S. Lewis’ classic Chronicles of Narnia- Christ is paralleled by the great Lion Aslan. Aslan is compassionate and tender to the children that wend their way into his world, and sacrifices himself in place of Edmund. Is that where it ends? No way. He comes back and kills that heartless, scheming Ice queen Jadis, and restores Narnia to its former glory. When Lucy asks the beavers if Aslan is a safe lion, Mr. Beaver says, “Safe. Of course he’s not safe- but he’s good.” How true.

So why do we picture Christ, the lion of Judah as a tame, house cat? The reason is because we have been fooling ourselves into thinking Jesus plays things safe- when really he is the opposite: he took the ultimate risk by becoming human, and donning for eternity a human body. He took a risk not just coming into the flesh, but giving us free will to choose him as our savior, hero, lover and Bridegroom- for we can always choose to reject him. The choice as his children is to reclaim the adventure that he has called us to live. Will we remain “nice guy (or girl)” Christians, trying to negotiate a truce around a desk with an enemy determined to bring us down? Or will we be like the warrior poet Scots who charge the fields of Bannock burn to reach our fallen brothers and sisters in the P.O.W. camp in enemy territory? The choice to pick up the sword is there- we need to determine if we will rely on the Lion of Judah’s strength to help us wield the sword, or turn and run like nice guys and remain weaklings forever.

Faker-a poem

Do they know?
Have I been figured out?
Have they seen right through my mask?
I’m so worried, I can’t answer these things.
How did it come to this,
That I have used those I love to further myself?
Why do I do it?
I’ve been so used to holding everyone and everything at bay,
That I’ve lost my moorings.
I can’t even remember if I had moorings to begin with.
The sickening feelings of loneliness and abandonment are sinking in,
Every passing minute I can feel them soaking up my soul like a sponge;
Too much longer and I’m gonna drown
In my own sea of worthlessness.
It’s almost over now, as I sit in this tub contemplating suicide.
All I gotta do is reach for the straight razor, and that’s it.
Then I realize how stupid and selfish that is,
And how much pain I’d cause God.
I limply drop the razor and make a vow.
A vow to never do something so stupid again.
But more importantly, to stop being a faker.

You’re There Before Me-a poem

Jonathan Micah Redditt, my little brother
I barely knew you.
But I’ll see you on the other side.
Even if you’re there before me.

An untimely cord embraced your throat,
Welcoming you into God’s presence.
Even though it’s God’s will I want to know
Why you’re there before me?

Prematurely born in mid April
You were taken from us all.
I’ve never seen your face,
But I know you’re there before me.

One day, by God’s grace, I’ll see you.
We will fellowship in God’s presence.
Until then I’ll have to live with the fact
That you’re there before me.

Theatre Room-a poem

Here I sit alone in this dark, tall room.
It is a theatre and around me sits hundreds of people.
We sit in the dark, feeling the gloom press down.
We sit and stare at a blank screen, waiting.

When the words come on, we follow the orders:
Enjoy life while it lasts; help yourself.
So I fill my mouth with buttery popcorn,
Waiting for the next order.

As I wait, the popcorn suddenly tastes bland.
I put down the food and pick up my drink,
Still waiting for more instructions.
But the drink tastes like lukewarm water.

Then more instructions come on the screen.
However as I sit and stare, with my bland pleasures
I read something between the lines:
Take up your cross and follow Me.

Suddenly it becomes clear why the gloom is pressing,
Why I am so unhappy, and why the phrase is there.
I stand and see a few others go for the exits,
And snake my way to the door out into the light outside.

The Writer-a poem

Have you ever looked
Upon a writer’s face as he writes?
His eyes are hooked
On the paper as he mentally fights
With the demons and writer’s block.
Ideas fly by like birds in a flock.

He sits at the oak desk
Amidst a mountain of paper crumpled.
Flicking away the eraser’s speck,
Sitting in his week old clothes all rumpled,
He scratches his head in contemplation,
Wondering if the story will only be a frustration.

The lone dangling desk lamp
Sways in the breeze as the writer
Tries to climb the mental ramp,
The ramp that he wishes was a lover, not a fighter.
Then slowly the writer starts furiously
To write as the story breaks through furiously, seriously....

The Uncertainty Principle-a poem

Let me put a question to you:
Where are you going when you die?
If you know the answer,
You’ve just beaten
The uncertainty principle.

What’s that you may ask?
It’s not knowing what your future holds.
Not knowing whether you’ll be married or not,
Or what your career will be.
That’s the uncertainty principle.

How do you beat the uncertainty principle?
Christ-He’s got your plan and purpose set
He’s got plans to give you a hope and a future.
In Christ, you can be certain that He’s covered
The uncertainty principle.

The Old Man and The Potter-a poem

There’s an old man I know-
A mirror image of myself.
He’s always hanging around,
Waving his awful habits in my face.

The old man sometimes seems part of me;
Sometimes he seems to be dead,
But by myself I can’t completely control him.

One day I met someone
Who called himself the Potter.
He knew more about me
Than I knew about myself.

He said, “If you want to
Be rid of the old man,
Let me shape your life
Like I shape this clay.”

I asked the Potter to
Shape and change my heart.
I feel more alive now,
Than I ever did before.
Rest in peace old man.

The Blackboard-a poem

Here I am,
Sealed in a room windowless and door less.
Surrounded by darkness and a piercing silence,
And facing a blackboard.

As I stare at it
The board becomes full of words:
Lust, greed, lying and more.
These are the sins of my life.

The words are written in black,
A black only I can see.
Then the words seem to jump from the board,
And I lower my head in shame.

Suddenly a light comes on,
Bright and illuminating like floodlights,
Clear as crystal, and white as snow.
Hope instantly enters my heart.

I pray to God to forgive me,
And cleanse my heart of black sin.
Then suddenly the dark words on the board disappear,
To be replaced by one white word: forgiven.

Takin’ Chances-a poem

Takin’ chances,
Doin’ dances.
Livin’ on the edge.

Livin’ for Christ,
Take advice,
And maybe trim your hedge.

Use your head,
Go to bed,
And try to avoid sorrow.

Love yo’ God,
Obey His laws
And joy is yours always.

Supposition on Growing Old-a poem

Sometimes as I sit bored, doing nothing
I start feeling like I’m extremely old.
Perhaps it’s just depression, but it gets me thinking:
“What will I be like when I’m thirty?”

This, therefore is my supposition on growing old.
I suppose my future will hold many things:
Marriage, employment, dreams, and aspirations.
There will also be sadness, nightmares, and crushed hope.

But I also suppose life is not something we control.
There could also be divorce and restraining orders,
And these kind of things could seriously change me.
So I ask you to think carefully about all you could be and do.

There could also be premature death,
That would rob my future of all possibilities.
But I know that when I die,
I will go to eternal rest when it’s my time.

Strength in Numbers-a poem

There is strength in numbers.
We’ve all heard the saying,
But how often do we apply it
In our own daily walk with Christ?

If the saying is true,
Then why do we allow ourselves
To get separated not just behind enemy lines,
But behind our own as well.

If Philippians 4:13 is true,
Why do so many lose heart,
And forfeit the un-fought, un-won battle?
We need to be more than conquerors.

We must be spiritually like Joshua,
Be strong and of great courage,
For only those who patiently circle Jericho
And wait upon the Lord shall see the walls tumble.

Straight Faced Maniac-a poem

You think you know me do ya?
You know nothing.
I am a crazy, bona fide and certified.
I play it cool but it’s so hard to cover some days.

Some days I want to laugh in your face,
And tell you what a bloody moron you are.
Some days I want to pull out my hair,
And spit in your face.

But oh no, I gotta play it cool.
I gotta act like everything’s fine.
Gotta play it cool in this runaway world.
Too much more and this sugar coated mask is gonna disappear.

Yep that’s me, the sugarcoated,
Straight faced maniac.
Just go ahead and push me to my limit,
And see how very unreasonable I’ll be.

Redefined Attitude-a poem

What do we need?
Who’s planted the seed?
What desires do we feed?
Where’s the gratitude?

What are you thankful for?
How has God stocked your store?
Why do we always need more?
We need to drop the selfish attitude.

We need to be grateful for our God given days.
We must make an effort in many different ways.
We gotta check out an attitude that pays.
A redefined attitude of gratitude.

Rebel-a poem

You can’t make me conform
I am against the flow.
That’s because I’m unique
You can’t control who I am.

I’m a rebel
Never gonna run with the pack
I’m a fighter
Never gonna stop until I die
I’m a wild card
Never can tell what I’ll do next.

No one tells me how to work
I am an independent thinker.
No one makes me like a mold
You can’t cut and paste me,
And that’s how it’ll be until I die.

Out of the Box-a poem

Moved so many times
I forgot my address.
Been livin’ out of the box so long
I forgot what bein’ settled was like.

The one comfort though
Is knowin’ this:
When I die, I’ll be packed
But at least I won’t have to worry about luggage.

Now is the Time…-a poem

Now is the time,
Don’t wait for tomorrow,
Don’t procrastinate,
Don’t put things off.

Don’t wait for a loved one to die,
Or a true love to pass by.
Don’t put off your dreams and settle
For a third rate gas pumping job.

Don’t ignore Christ,
He is the fount of all life,
He alone can bring you joy and completion.
But first you gotta choose Him for yourself.

And you want to know something?
Something wonderful and beautiful
Right here and now,
Now is the Time.

Not My Father-a poem

This is a poem I write for myself.
If it applies to you, or touches you in some way-bless you.
What should a father be?
Words like loving, funny, clown, closest friend, provider,
Protector, available, confidante, a discipliner, tall, official,
Strict, slack, concerned, friendly and likeable-
All of these words describe fathers.
But not my father.

No, my father is the counter opposite of all those.
For the last couple of years he has lived counter
To everything a father should be.
He has lived for the moment, the possessions,
The alternate, the secular world style.
He has forsaken God, his family, his wife and children-
All for the sake of pleasure!
This man is not my father.

But there is another father in my life.
This father is ethereal, and tangible at the same time.
I can talk to Him when I wish,
I can also ignore Him.
He hurts when I hurt.
He weeps when I weep.
He wraps his huge arms around me every day.
He is closer than a brother.
More loving than a shepherd.
He died for my sins, and lives for eternity.
And will He forsake me?
Not My Father.

Morons-a poem

If there’s one thing I dislike,
It’s the morons of the world.
Whether they’re driving a bike,
Or a car, they act like they own the world.

On the highway or at home,
They seem to be missing a screw,
And you wonder if their brain’s foam,
Or if the captain’s sailing with full crew.

The best way to fight
Morons is where they lose in life,
By doing good and shedding light
On the fact that they cause strife.

In closing this ditty
I’d like to say
That it’s a stinkin’ pity
To think that morons will rule the world someday.

Me-a poem

It is mind-boggling how we have a God
Who loves us despite our flaws.
I can’t recall how many times sin caused me
To stumble on the Road of Righteousness.
But instead of condemning me, He helps me
Regain my footing repeatedly.

And I ask myself, “Why? Why me?”
I’ve done nothing to deserve favor.
And I ask myself, “Why? Why me?”
God answers gently, quietly, “My Son died to redeem you.

It has been a few years since I
Invited Christ into my heart.
I can walk better on the Holy Highway,
But still I trip in those potholes,
Those potholes called sin, and still Christ helps.

And I ask myself, “Why? Why me?”
I’ve done nothing to deserve favor.
And I ask myself, “Why? Why me?
God answers gently, quietly, “My Son died to redeem you.”

Live-a poem

Live:
A word the living should know,
But don’t
A word the dead want to know,
But can’t

Live:
A command God gave
That we ignore.
A choice not given to
The common street whore.

Why do we refuse to live?
Why do we insist on playing dead?
Why do we stay on shore,
Safe and secure, clutching the life ring
The drowning world desperately cries for?

Last Will and Testament-a poem

I leave to anyone who knew me
Whatever I had in my lifetime
Of course, if anyone knew me
You’d know that I didn’t have much of anything.

That means that this paper
Is one of a handful of things
You’ll get from me
Without a guarantee of value.

If there’s anything valuable
Feel free to do with it what you wish
Just as long as you don’t waste it-
Or burn it.

Fool-a poem

Mom and Dad, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for disobeying your advice.
Because I’ve landed myself in a nowhere job.
In short, I’ve been a fool.

Brother and sister, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for being a bad role model
And for not being a good brother
Don’t follow me, for I’m a fool.

Teachers and mentors, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for letting you down
And for not being the student you wished for.
As I sit here with little education, I know I’m a fool.

Mr. and Mrs. S, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for drinking and driving
And taking your son, my friend, away from you.
I know I’m responsible, and that I was a fool.

Ms. J, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for being uncommitted
And placing the burden of parenthood on you so soon.
My desires didn’t match my commitment,
I am a fool.

God, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for talking the walk, but not walking it.
And hurting all those that I’ve hurt.
Forgive me, for I’m a fool.

Elegy To My Friend-a poem

My friend, you are gone
But I am still here.
You have left,
And I am left behind.

My friend, you’re in peace,
I’m in torment.
You’re with God,
I’m among demons.

My friend, I took you
From your family,
I have to live with that
And the coinciding guilt.

My friend, I took away
You from your fiancé
Days before your blessed
Union of marriage.

My friend, your scholarship
For university football sits
Void, but still a reminder of
What the future held.

My friend, you’ve made your peace
With God and are in rest.
I’m trying to make peace
With your tormented family.

My friend, your picture sits
Staring happily at me.
I look at it and I sit
Staring into the void.

My friend, I’m coming to terms
With the fact you’re gone.
And I’m coming to terms
With the fact I’ll never see you again.

My friend, I’ve considered
All that I’ve done,
And I’ve considered death.
But that wouldn’t do at all.

My friend, I’m sorry.
I keep wishing for a miracle
That could bring you back,
But I know that’s impossible.

Therefore, my friend
I will say farewell to you,
Accept the blame for the accident
And prevent it from happening again.

Edge of Oblivion-a poem

Have you ever seen
The edge of oblivion?
Some of you may say yes.
Others no.
The truth is we’ve all seen it.
Just some a little closer than others.

Let me refreshify your memory.
It’s a sheer, smooth obsidian cliff
From where many a soul has plummeted.
There are traces of red inside the obsidian.
It could be rubies, or it could be fire embers.
Not even those who jumped could tell you.

Everyone sees this particular edge.
But there is one better than Oblivion,
It’s known as the edge of Serenity.
Sad to say, few today know about it.
If you’ve never seen it
Let me show you.

Let me introduce you.
It’s a sheer, smooth white pearl cliff
From where many a soul has given over control
There are traces of green inside it,
It could be emeralds, it could be a new kind of cactus.
Those who go climbing there could tell you.

And at the bottom of the cliff
Across the sea of glass,
Is the great white city
With streets of gold,
Never ending worship
And the greatest king ever.

If you’re interested,
Let me show you the way.
Better yet, I’ll walk with you there.
And who knows
Maybe we’ll meet some other stranded folks.
And show them the way from the edge of Oblivion.

Dream World-a poem

When you close your eyes
And withdraw from pressures
Piled on by the world,
This is the dream world.

When you see the world through rose colored glasses,
And you have found the one
You know will be yours forever,
You’ve entered the dream world.

When you’ve hit rock bottom
And you know you’ve got nowhere to go,
You retreat to a personal refuge
And pray for a retreat to the dream world.

When you’re enjoying yourself
And you see tragedy on TV.
You wish there was no death, and hurt.
You hope for a dream world.

When you know you’re a sinner
And you’ve tried every thing but are going nowhere
You turn to God and pray for forgiveness,
You’ve found more than a dream world-
You’ve found eternal rest.

Cliché-a poem

Pick your poison.
Choose your weapon.
Make my day.
Strung out, held up.
Live long and prosper.
Rest in peace.

The world is my oyster, my prison, my life.
Make ends meet.
Look out for number one.
Watch out for number two.
The devil made me do it.

All you need is love.
Love the one you’re with,
In the name of love,
Come together right now.
Head for the hills folks.

If the world is so original, why do we have so many clichés?
If the world is so perfect, why does it slip through cracks?
If God doesn’t exist, why are we blessed?
If we are the pinnacles of creation, why do we stoop to the level of the monkeys?

Here are some things that Christians have clichéd:
Prayer, unconditional love, faith, mercy.
What happened to our first love folks?
Why is God a regular in foul language and cruel jokes?
Are we gonna go with the flow?
Are we gonna stand and fight?
Will you be a prisoner of war, or a rebel with bite?
These are questions you gotta answer for yourself,
Cause like the saying goes, you want something done right
You got to do it yourself.

Burning Candle Wick, Ticking Clock-a poem

Candles diverse,
Candles thick,
Candles tall and short,
Candle’s burning wick.

Candles stand out in the night,
Candles battle the elements,
Candles stand firm and strong,
Then candle’s burning wick snuffs out.

People diverse,
People thick,
People tall and short,
People’s ticking clock.

People stand out in the night,
People battle the elements,
People stand firm and strong,
Then people’s ticking clock stops running.

Beauty in a Bottle-a poem

In today’s modern world
There is a sad truth:
We can now buy
Beauty in a bottle.

Calvin Klein, Liz Taylor,
J. Lo, Ralph Lauren:
These are the gods of
Beauty in a bottle.

What I want to know is
Where did we put God?
Amongst these boxes of
Beauty in a bottle?

Why do we insist on
Cheating ourselves and selling short
On the real beauty that existed before
Beauty in a bottle?

We gotta stop,
Junk the artificial
And get back to God’s beauty
The beauty in a bottle
Known as men and women.

Beautiful Lord-a poem

Better than a rainy, fresh day.
Better than a Starbucks frappucino:
This is my Beautiful Lord.

More euphoric than a handful of ecstasy,
More romantic than a handful of carnations:
This is my Beautiful and Mighty Lord.

More gripping than a blockbuster film,
More intense than a game of RISK:
This is my Beautiful, Mighty, Heavenly Father.

More focused than a chess champ,
More purposeful than a practical joker:
He is my Beautiful, Eternal, and Mighty, Heavenly Father.

Apple Praise Pie-a poem

What is it that brings me joy?
What is it that I am thankful for?
Second to the Lord,
I’d have to say-a slice of apple praise pie.

To me, apple praise pie is made up of the small things
I give thanks to the Lord for.
Blueberries, a good cup of coffee, better friends,
Rain, freedom to worship, bike riding,
E-mail, tiger lilies, and my family.

What is your apple praise pie?
Do you know what you are thankful for?
Apple praise pie is given from the Lord,
So eat up and be thankful.

Addictions-a poem

Some people are addicted to coffee,
Others are addicted to cigarettes,
And some are addicted to alcohol.
But me, I’m addicted to God.

Some are chocolate lovers,
Others are movie junkies,
And some are self-proclaimed d.js.
Me, I’ve got a craving for Christ.

Some addicts like sports,
Others like cards,
And some are into cars.
But me, I’m a Jesus freak.

Some enjoy religion,
Others like yoga.
And unfortunately most are spiritually lost.
But I’m sold out on Christ.

Abused-a poem

Sticks and stones break bones,
And names hurt like hell.
Money can’t buy me love,
So I feel unloved by others.
People hear, but rarely listen-
Which is why I’m drowning out the world
Under my headphones.
Some people are like open books,
But first you gotta unlock the door on the bookcase.
A picture’s worth a thousand words they say.
So what does one’s absence from yearbook photos say?
We always preach about inclusion while we lock the outcasts in their lockers.
You may not have hurt me by hitting me,
But a lack of touch can hurt too.
Loving your friends and relatives only in as much
As they can give you things is disgusting.
What am I talking about?
Abuse.
Nothing’s new under the sun,
And abuse is no exception.

Creed of the Heart-A poetic statement of beliefs

I believe in the Trinity, of the three in one.
I believe the Son took the world’s shame on Himself
To make it square with the Father.
I believe Christ rose after three days of death and decay
As a testimony to Satan’s weakness.
Gossip is of the devil, encouragement is of God.
The Spirit helps us grow, the Father is our Counselor
And Christ is our Savior and friend.

Christ died for me individually, and he died for me as a member of the human race.
Racism is a disease, as much as cancer, AIDS or Parkinson’s.
Idol worship is rampant in today’s world.
We need to constantly return to our first love.
Two-facedness needs to stop being made.
Bad music needs to stop being made.
Reality TV needs to stop, shows about heroes need to increase.
Hollywood needs more Cary Grants, Jimmy Stewarts, and Gregory Pecks.

Everyone should take drama lessons
Some should become actors.
The arts need to be refocused.
People should think for themselves and not be led on by others.
Only leaders should lead, not politicians.

My favorite things include:
The color green, Superman, Cherry Coke,
Beethoven, orange t-shirts, historical films,
Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”, Stephen King fiction,
Good coffee, better frapuccino, my friends:
Jesse, Mike, Malachi and Ryan, movie posters,
Great lines, writing, Indiana Jones, and being loved.

Remember-a poem

As I close my eyes
I visualize
The Second World War vets,
Who gave up their lives to save ours,
I pray we not forget; I pray
Remember them all your living hours.

Remember them for heroic deeds,
Remember them as men.
Let their memories grow like poppy seeds,
And nest in our brain like a wren.
Remember them with the poppy,
They died to make us happy.

Remember them on D-Day,
Remember about Dieppe.
Remember how they paid
Will their lives with every battle step.
Remember also their tombstones,
And the occupying courageous bones.

Remember as we celebrate
Remembrance Day,
How they saved us before it was too late,
And how with their lives they did pay.
Remember they died that we might live,
To share the freedom they did give.

Twilight Angel-a poem

I can see her standing there in the vanishing light,
Brilliant brown eyes piercing the enclosing night.
Just the thought of her smile makes me feel right.
I move toward her, but find she moves away.
I long to keep her with me in this ever fading day.
I’ll fight to keep her with me, no matter the price to pay.

Fighting, I move forward, pressing with all my might.
Pressing against the weightiness of this ever-heavy night.
Even in the dark I feel her soul, and see with a sight
That could not be anything but love’s bright shining ray.
This ray of love leads me on to the right and proper way.
The way to my twilight angel who is now not so far away.

How does it end?
One cannot certainly know,
For in a struggle two must fight.
The twilight angel must take a stand
And choose her path
Either to the young man, or to no man’s land.

Love is Not…-a poem

Love is not selfish,
But is self-humbling.
Love is not temporary,
But is a lifetime commitment.
Love is not simply emotional,
But also deeply spiritual.
Love has no time limit,
But is eternally existing.
Love is not wavering,
But is ever steadfast.
Love is not bitter,
But is content in all things.
Love is not just a feeling,
But a trait of God.
Love is not a warm buzz,
But a holy fire for one another.
Love is not a one-night stand,
But an everlasting stand against time.
Love is not just fling,
But love is something to be cherished forever.
Love is not a pursuit,
But a holy joint of two people by God’s grace.
Love is not just in looks,
But love is in character.
Love is not merely skin deep,
But penetrates to the soul and spirit.
Love is not just sex,
But is spiritual unity between two people.
Love is not a pit you fall into,
But a heaven on earth through one you love.
Love is not a ball and chain,
But is a wonderful freedom of spirit.
Love is not a personal restraint,
But one of man’s greatest freedoms.
Love is not a torturous process,
But a joyful endeavor of the heart.
Love is not just a word,
But a faithful deed.
Love is loyalty.
Love is personal sacrifice.

Father Forgive Them-a poem

Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.
The religious leaders falsely accuse, saying I blaspheme.
Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.
I am weak, naked and scourged by soldiers mocking me.
Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.
Pilate orders me crucified, but forgets where his power came from.
Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.
Soldiers put spikes through my wrists and gamble my robe off.
Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.
A thief also mocks, demanding a sign to prove who I am.
Father, forgive them, because I take their sin to the grave,
And into Your hands I commit my Spirit.

A Letter of Apology To the One True God-A poem

Dear God, I’ve done it again.
Once again I send a spiritual letter
To the Creator whom I’ve failed.
Despite my resolve to do better,
I’ve fallen to my knees like I’ve been nailed
Realizing I’ve lost more joy than pain.

If it’s possible, could you help me
Climb out of this canyon of grief
Created by a humble mortal you call yours?
If you could spare the time it would be a relief,
Because I’ve spent far too many hours
Fighting by myself against folly.

Death seems imminent and I worry
Whether I’m worth the trouble you go to
To save me from myself.
Then I hear your instant reply skew
All thought of despair and clean the dusty shelf
That I call my soul and say “My child don’t worry.”

As I stick the postage on the letter
Send it to you express
And pray it find you,
I know you love, when I depress.
I also know you forgive too,
And my soul rises in joy and I feel better.

The Other 90 Percent-a poem

Man-the pinnacle creation till sin.
The fateful day he partook of taboo
Human kind went brain dead.
I want to know where'd the other ninety percent go?

If you consider that we only use ten percent
Of our God-given faculties
And are still the smartest creation
You should ask what happened to the other ninety percent.

The sad answer to the question
Of where our faculties went to
Is that we traded life and brains
For death and "blissful" ignorance!

Even when the first man had one hundred percent
Of his brains he was still stupid enough
To believe a talking serpent over God-
He chose for the rest of us to lose the other ninety percent.

But there is good news in this-
Jesus came with all one hundred percent and in his wisdom
Planned to save our souls and our minds.
So let's pick up our brains and show others where their ninety percent is.

Nothing Without God-a poem

People tell me that I can write,
That I have a talent.
They may be right, but I am
Nothing without God.

Words come to me easily,
And I always seem to know
How people think and are-
And I am nothing without God.

I know that my talent is a gift,
A gift from the Author and Perfecter of my faith.
I also know that my gift on my own
Is nothing without God.

It is because of this realization
That I will honor the Gift giver
By glorifying His name and encouraging others
Or my writing is nothing without God.

A Meeting of Two Rivers-a poem

Sagitawa- A Meeting of Two Rivers
That describes perfectly how
We people meet as two rivers
And find common ground here.

Each of us comes down different
Rivers of life to be here,
Serving God as we are gifted;
Using the paddles and means we have.

Some of our rivers are marked with
Rapids, dams and marshes.
Some of us take the same rivers,
And join rafts for a safer journey.

It's when we meet at this crossing
That we find a rich variety of friends
We share in each other's joys and sorrows,
Discovering and rediscovering friendships new and old.

We meet here and stay for a time
Listening to each other's river tales,
Marvelling at the work of the Father,
And preparing to continue on the forging of the river trail.

Some us have travelled many years on our rivers,
While others have much sojourning.
We are here for what seems like an eternity
When really it is a flitting second.

Slowly but steadily we drift apart,
Some of us not to return for many a year.
Others of us will see this place again shortly-
But things will never be just as it is in this moment.

As we part, with handshakes, words and hugs
There is a sense of sorrow in the parting,
But it is merely skin deep-
For we know the power of the Father.

For if he can freeze the sun in the sky,
Dry up the Jordan River,
Part the Red Sea for his children
And calm the sea with a Word,
Then how much more will he care for us on our river journey?

My Wildflower-a poem

Tiger Lilies, white carnations and daisies:
These are a few of the flowers
That intrigue me, and soothe me
With their colors and scents.

In life there are many entoxicating flowers
That may entice my senses,
But there is a flower I am searching for-
The one wildflower I'm to have.

What does this wildflower look like?
To be honest, I'm not sure.
All I know is that this wildflower
Is a one-of-a-kind, unique flower.

She is in need of a rescue from
The thorn bushes that threaten to strangle her life away.
I'm on a quest to find her,
But there is no map or markers.

This is an adventure in the making,
It may be a long or short journey,
But the fun will be in the search
For my wildflower that God has chosen for me.

Hollowness-a poem

I miss my father today.
I hear a song that reminds me
Of the man he used to be,
And I can't hold back the tears.

A good couple of friends
Comfort me with embraces
And sincere, heartfelt encouragements.
I am thankful for their support.

I think of how dad has wounded me,
And I am saddened-
For not only has he hurt me,
But my whole family too.

There is a brief moment where I
Long for everything to magically
Return to how it used to be.
I know, however, it will take long to make all right.

I am still hurting as a young man,
And it will take dad's return for the
Pain to subside, but there is hope.
Hope that God the Father will break him.

I keep moving through life,
Facing challenges and joys
Amidst the hollowness of a broken world-
Praying, hoping, waiting and sojourning....