Homeless

My neighbor

Discovered evidence

Of some critter

Living behind his shed.

He blocked off

The space between

The house and the shed

With a piece of scrap lumber.

Tonight,

When I let Lucy out

We noticed a possum standing there

Where the space used to be.

She (I imagine it as a “she”)

Looked confused, puzzled

Wondering what had happened

To what had once been her home.

She was blocked,

No longer welcome.

And my heart ached for her.

I understood what she was feeling.

Photo by Eric Ward on Unsplash

Tension #1

I saw a picture of you today.
You wore a big smile and you looked genuinely happy.
And I was happy you were happy
(though a part of me wished you were unhappy and missing me).

That I was happy you are happy
just confirmed what I always knew;
that what I felt for you,
what I still feel for you
is,
was,
always will be
love.

True love.

And my hearts breaks all over again.

Qavah

Qavah

 

Wait expectantly?

I’ve been waiting

On pins and needles

For decades.

 

How many years

Did Sarah wait?

How many times

Did Hannah plead her case?

 

I’ve been waiting.

On pins and needles.

For decades.

 

The pins feel sharper now. 

The needles pierce my heart

To the point of shedding blood.

 

But you already know what that’s like,

Don’t you?

Being pierced,

Shedding blood.

 

So, I’ll wait some more

On painful pins and needles.

On You will I wait

For You to keep Your promise.

Ill-Fitting

A gift

They say,

Chosen

Just for you.

Be thankful

They say.

But I don’t like it!

It’s the wrong size

And the material is scratchy.

It’s a coat that’s too small;

A straight jacket

That restrains me,

Trapping in all the

Love and passion

I want to give!

And receive.

It’s a shirt

Four sizes too big.

Room enough for two,

But I wear it alone!

I’m lonely and lost

Inside it's billowing cloth.

You had ugly,

Uncomfortable outfits, too.

Torn, blood-stained robes,

A painful crown of thorns.

Unfit for most

But shameful, humiliating

For a King!

You donned

That wardrobe

So my crimson clothes

Would be white as wool.

There is at least

One wedding dress

In my future,

Though I’d like there to be two.

It’s perfectly tailored,

Sized to my form.

It does more than hide

My figure’s flaws,

It fixes them completely!

The material is soft

Against my skin,

Comforting.

Making me forget

Every hurt I’ve ever felt;

Healing every

Scrape, scar and bruise,

And drying every tear.

Every one.

That dress

Hangs in a closet

In a room far away;

But not far away really.

Because long ago,

Before you wore

Those torn, blood-stained robes

And had that crown of thorns

Pushed down on your

Tender scalp,

You willing donned

Swaddling clothes

So I could someday

Meet you

Wearing the gown

You made for me.

The Perfect Storm

I struggled against the fierce storm,
   battling strong winds
      which blew me off course.

                           The heat of passion

                       met the coolness of rejection
                    ran in to the drench of tears
                 to form the perfect storm;
              a confluence of sadness and despair
         which threatened to overpower me
      and drag me away to the dark place.
  But lightning struck
and lit my path

   revealing where I was,

      where I was heading,

          and the path back

            To Your refuge.

         "Undone"+Sword+sovereignty.

      Sin+repentance+eternity
   met to form
another perfect storm
   where grace rained down
        and drenched me in redemption.

A Fractured Fairytale

My heart leapt up when I beheld the rainbow in the sky, the sign of the promise. But I jumped into an empty swimming pool. Now I await for my King, Himself to do what all his horses and men were unable, to put me back together.

A Seed's Prayer

Many seeds were sown,
     watered,
          germinated,
Grew in to beautiful plants and bushes and flowers,
     fertilized,
          dropped new seeds.
New plants and bushes and flowers sprang forth,
     growing,
          reaching to the sun.
I'm still in the ground,
     waiting;
Waiting to germinate,
     to grow,
          to be picked,
               chosen.
Every year
     more dirt thrown on top of me;
          deeper in to the ground I sink.
Overlooked?
     Not noticed?
          Forgotten?
It's cold and dark.
     Am I slow to germinate,
          or am I dead?
Just be over with it already,
     and bury me
          six feet under.
   

The Circle of (a Lonely) Life

If midnight is the Witching Hour,
3:00 AM is the Lonely Hour.
I'm wakened by echoes
Bouncing off the cavernous walls
Of my empty heart
Because of the empty place next to me.


No sheep appear
For me to count.
Even they have the good sense
To be sleeping at this hour,
Huddled together.


I only have the minutes to count
Until dawn breaks
When loneliness is replaced
By busyness
Until the next sunset
When the cycle begins again.

Crucified

My heart is torn to pieces.
My desire ripped from me;
My desire, not Yours.

If this were a medical procedure
There'd be anesthesia
And plenty of meds afterwards.

But this is not surgery,
No doctor wielding a scalpel.
This is a crucifixion.

My desire is being crucified,
But unlike Jesus, because of Jesus
God has not forsaken me.

God has not forsaken me!
He is with me; the Holy Spirit within me.
My Helper. My Comforter.

When will this end?
How will this end?
And what, if anything will You resurrect
From my dead desire?

Senseless

I was made
  with ears that hear
    and eyes that see,
But he does not speak to me.
He hides himself from my sight.

I was given a mouth
  that longs to taste his mouth;
A nose the sniffs the air
  seeking his musky, virile smell.
But he is nowhere to be found.

I was created with a body,
  with skin and nerves
    that wait for his touch
      to send waves of excitement through me!

He is absent.

My heart is so alone
  it's beats echo loudly,
    drowning out my sobs and wails.
So empty
  the slightest of breaths
    sends waves of pain throughout
      when they touch the raw exposed surfaces
Of my soul.

I wait upon my Redeemer
  to make right what is so wrong,
    to heal my heart
That He made,
  to fill my longing desire
He placed deep inside me;

To keep His promises

...Hope

Heartache

Heartache

 Hundreds of puzzle pieces You’ve given me.

I received each one with joy!

I pieced them together

Waiting excitedly, expectantly for the final piece to be inserted,

And find out I’ve been wrong.

The picture I thought I was putting together

Was different from the one You had on Your box.

You’ve left thousands of crumbs on the trail for me.

I’ve followed with anticipation

Of what waits at the end.

I came to the end of a trail today.

I followed the wrong trail

Fix my mistakes, dear God.

Help me find the right path.

“The LORD is good to those who wait for him,

   to the soul who seeks him.”

      -Lamentations 3:25

Digestion

Heartache.
Death of romance.
Like King David, at the death of his baby
   I wash my face, take a meal
      wanting to move forward,
         wanting to trust You!
I eat and drink in Your Word
   seeking comfort, sustenance,
      trying to "taste and see that the LORD is good".
It sits in my soul like rocks,
   heavy and unsatisfying;
      like a meal that just "sits there"
         leaving me full
            but still hungry.
But if I wait,
   it will break down
      ...eventually.
It will digest
   and my soul will absorb its nourishment.
      I will be sustained.



Hands, Touching Hands

My friends
Reach out to me
In kindness
And with love.
All I see
Are their hands;
Left hands,
With rings
And their touch
Stings my soul.

Oh Christmas Tree

I took down the Christmas tree today,
Gently lifting each ornament
From dried out branches
Trying not to spill too many needles.

I thought of many of the people who gave them to me.
Many are doing this same task,
Removing the ornaments
From their trees.

"Our First Christmas Together",
"Our First House"
"Baby's First Christmas"
"Disney Vacation"

History displayed in decorations.
Trees filled with hundreds,
Thousands of memories.
My tree filled with hopes and wishes.

Despite my best efforts
The floor is carpeted with needles
Resembling a lonely,
Dark forest floor.

I tip the tree to drag it outside
Forgetting the water in the stand.
It spills and soaks my slippers.
Or is it a pool of tears in which I stand?

Changes

The God who never changes
Is always changing me.
Though He loves me as I am
He wants what’s best for me.


Softening harsh edges,
Removing sinful stains,
Adding joy and holiness,
My loss is always gain.


Wrestle, rant and rave with Him;
Tears, grief, fury, and despair.
Exhaustion overtakes me
Still I rage on my selfish war.


Life is very painful.
As He increases, I decrease.
Stretch marks, growing pains;
I beg for some relief!


Comfort and forgiveness come
In ways I could not dream,
With knowledge, insight, wisdom
That I share in Christ’s suffering.


It’s a privilege not all are privy.
Though I confess, I would prefer
He answer in other ways
But to His perfect plan I do defer.


He’s the same yesterday, today, tomorrow.
I’m glad that I am not.
What is now is better than before
But what’s to come is better yet.


I wait upon the LORD
To keep promises He made to me,
Not dreams or fanciful wishes
But solid, true certainties


Of peace, joy, contentment
Always and eternally.
No sin, no sorrow, no pain
Jesus gave us that surety. 


For He’s the God who never changes;
With kindness and tenderness He’s changing me.
Though He loves me as I am
He wants what’s best for me.

Nature Abhors a Vacuum

Its not an imbalance
That a chemical can counter.
Its not a weight
A drug can lift up.

Its pain.  Real pain.
A hole in my heart
With raw tissue exposed,
Stinging as if alcohol is being poured over me.

A deep inhale of ice cold air
On a subzero day burns my lungs.
Breathing hurts! But its necessary;
So I suffer the searing pain.

A cavity inside me
With nerves exposed.
Air being blown inside
Jolts of agony travel my body.

Nature abhors a vacuum
And so do I.
Jacob wrestled You; Hannab begged.
And so do I.

Please, answer me
As you answered them.

Deliverance

I come in from the cold

Shivering. My nose and toes
Numb from frigid temperatures.
The sound of the furnace kicking on

Greets me, calling me deeper inside.

My fingers sting; the heat hurts

As my hands begin to thaw.

But the sound of the fan blowing

Warm air reminds me
Comfort lies in the future.

I need only wait.

Drink Offering

This page is my drink offering.

Words flow like tears upon the page.

My heart bleeds in ink and pixels.

I am an empty vessel   laid upon your altar.

Will the steam from my blood sweat and tears

Rise up to You as an acceptable offering?

The Lantern

On the basement shelf sits an old kerosene lantern,

The finish touched only by time.

The globe is covered by dust, collected in it’s curves.

And rust is beginning to mar the base’s seams and edges.

Cobwebs hang in the corners of the shelf

And dust that’s landed evenly over the surfaces

Show no activity here for a long time.

No fingerprints or scrapes in the layers

This lamp was placed there long ago

With dreams of adventures and trips to come

But newer models came along

Lighter, sleeker, easier to use, brighter.

Its charred mantle gives evidence

Of having once been lit,

That once it brought forth a soft glow;

But it sits forgotten and replaced.

There’s still fuel to be burned

Still able to provide warmth and light someone’s way

It waits expectantly,

Ready for a match.

Antique

It’s harder for old, broken hearts.

Antiques are worn, weathered, fragile;

And parts are harder to find.

Care must be taken when handling.

Only skilled craftsmen should even try,

But they’re rare and in short supply.

None appreciate their character,

Their strength or soft lines,

The beauty of their intentional design.

There’s still useful  life remaining!

Love untapped!  Waiting to be

Wanted.  Desired.

Needing only minor repairs,

Hidden fortunes sit overlooked!

Wondering. Dreaming. Hoping