Surfing Suffering

I’m never going to tame suffering.
It is an ocean of unpredictable waves.

In my youth, I surfed like a barney,
thinking I knew the right moves.
But I was a rag doll with a christian vocabulary
tossed from my flimsy board of faith.
A Maverick of despair pinned me,
revealing my desperation for a savior.

Still the waves kept crashing,
drowning me in sorrow,
Until God rescued me and
set my feet on ground solid with his love.
We trained for hours.
I looked silly hopping up on my board of faith,
awkwardly balancing between grace and works.
Up daily for dawn patrol to
study the Hall of Faith surfers,
men and women,
though scarred by Great Waves,
who rode life to the fullest impact.

They testified to the reward of daily discipline,
and increased my quiver. The right board for the right wave.
Self-control stretched and retrained my weak muscles.
Jesus taught me to respect suffering;
lean into the lessons rather than fight their powerful surge. 

I now know what it is like to run my fingers down the barrel,
relax into the beautiful hollow of not being God.
I use suffering from top to bottom,
carving hope from impossible odds.
I respect other surfing sufferers, rooting them on to ride well.

I persevere when rung through the washing machine of trials.
Experiencing epic peeks with God towards the glorious impact of gnarly suffering.


Photo by Hernan Pauccara from Pexels “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, when you encounter trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Allow perseverance to finish its work, so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2-4 NIV).

Podcasts post every Monday at 10 am.

Devotionals post every Tuesday at 7 pm.

Poetry post every Thursday at 7 pm.

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Resurrection Battle at the Tomb

Forgotten, I greeted you from the remembrances.
My home hollowed from wealth, ready to entertain kings and demons.
You crossed the unclean threshold of my grave, your royal robes billowing in the sea sworn breeze.


A crown, only seen by our eyes, testifies to us who you are.
Naked, we claw with rocks at vulnerable flesh, mutilating your earthly jewel.
We’ll make you unrecognizable too. Flesh out God.




I scream for
release from day and night horror. While they cried out to
remain fast.
I was a scarred lamb within, and
a roaring lion without.


Mighty Samson would not tame we beating beasts.


But You, the Son of God, entered my tomb and knocked
the breath out of me.
What man chained you commanded freed.
Clothed in righteousness, I now cling to you.

A demoniac commissioned to share the truth of your
love for mankind.



(Inspired by Mark 5)


Poetry is posted every Thursday at 7 pm

Podcast is posted every Monday at 10 am

Devotional is posted every Tuesday at 7 pm

For Images of the Demoniac Story Click Here
faith mental health poetry