Posts Tagged: poem

Furnace of God's Presence

Furnace of God’s Presence

I am in the furnace of God’s presence
Where all I’ve learned from scripture
of your character becomes tangible, concrete,
and battle-tested by false belief.

Pushed into the furnace of God’s presence
Shame will not singe me.
The flames of intended destruction
laugh and lick around my delicate flesh with delight. Possessed.
The truth of Your love—a breath prayer.
I am nothing more than a suppressed slave to the world’s whim.
What power do I have against mighty nations?

But I’ve witnessed your sovereign will
You destroy idols and humble mankind.
I’m here in these flames of trust, you are here in your faithfulness.
On tiptoes of hope, I stretch out my arms to heaven
and submit to my Sovereign King, Redeemer, Rescuer, and Abba, come what may.
Head tilted towards heaven in defiant praise, I shout,
“Glory is Yours alone. There is no
other!”
.
I surrender to Your holy presence.
The only fire that consumes me.
I trust You in the even if…

 

(This poem was inspired by Daniel 3 when King Nebuchadnezzar threatened to throw three young Hebrew men into the furnace if they did not bow down to the image made in his likeness.)

 

“Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said to the king, ‘O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. If this be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up’ ” (Daniel 3:16-18ESV).

For further reading: A God I Did Not Form

Surrendered to His Glory

Surrounded by celebration
Under the illuminating lights of
R
essurection power, I
Recognize every blaring blemish
E
ndured on the cruel cross for me.
N
aked truth. Stripped of
Distraction. Believe in Him. Abide in Him.
E
nter into love so tangible death is
R
endered speechless. My ego submits
Eternally from self-indulgent glory to 
D
ance with deliberate delight before the one true king.

 

 

Upside-Down Kingdom

My flesh stings with the stripes of suffering. Persecuted,
rejected, abandoned. What are these to me in light of eternity
with You? Your upside-down kingdom of servant king is a balm
to my heartache.

Though my flesh revolts at the dirt of humility and
my mind balks at unseen hope, I pick up my cross
and follow You night and day. Faith in You never
disappoints! Tears and songs
gurgle and bubble to the surface like a spring. You, Oh Lord,
are the source of circumstance-transforming joy.

And when my night comes, when all hope seems lost, and my flesh
bleeds to betray You. May I
cry out like Jesus. “It is finished,” and trust your resurrection power.

Peter’s Darkest Night

I possessed no doubt. Your identity
secure in my arrogance like a sword against
the throat of my enemies. You are the Messiah! But
your kingdom came, not with a roar
of victory, but a depressing death cry of, it is finished!

We shared
the same ministry dirt under the nails.
Fished for men. You called me friend.
This death you hinted at—not
on my watch!

You capsized my boat. Wrecked my
expectations. Did I really know you? Hope lies
rotting in a borrowed grave.
I replay your 
ministry over and over in my head. Where did I 
go wrong? I called you Messiah!  Did I really know you?

My battle cry, so passionate, so confident, last night, choked
out by the cock’s crow of my betrayal today. You looked at me.
You knew I would betray you, and still, you chose me. “Why?”
Bitterness mocked, “I’ll
follow you anywhere!” 

I was ready to establish your kingdom.
The battle was in front of me. My heart pounded.
My nearest enemy’s ear lay on the ground, with
first blood of freedom. Who’s with me?

“Put your sword away, Peter,” you commanded. Put my sword
away? Didn’t you put this sword in my hand? Even as I was ready to destroy
you were ready to restore.

“Your kingdom come!” 
What kingdom has ever come through a cross…

Countless times, you knelt and drew in the sand.
Treated the self-righteous as heathens. I felt elevated. 
A part of something gloriously divine. Oh good,
the master will put these accusers in their place. I witnessed
your miracles, but restore an enemy? My knowledge of your royalty was robbed
by your humility—by your sacrifice.

Why did you choose me?

 

Poetry Testifies to What I’ve Seen and Heard

Hero words take up swords
and slice through false beliefs with the authority
of the one sent.
Poetry is a place to find refuge. You are here
in the observations of my soul. Reminding winter of
its boundaries and cultivating plump vines for harvest
in the desert of despair.

Sustaining Word

I love the way you invite
me to touch truth. I run my
fingers over your tangible promises like
oranges ripening in an infinite orchard. A tenacious
orchard unhindered by blight, drought, fire, or suffering. Each
morning, I pluck encouragement, understanding, and endurance from
your Word. I tear into the tender flesh of submission and humility. Your
Word fills me with satisfying joy as I
squeeze out the fresh juice of  Your Spirit and drink the glory of Your creation.

 

He remembers his covenant forever, the word that he commanded, for a thousand generations…

Psalm 105:8 ESV

A Counselor Familiar with Dust

You didn’t impatiently check your watch like
you had someplace more important to be.
A God who listens.
You didn’t stare down my vulnerability
in disgust as I poured out my broken heart.
You grabbed a tissue and sobbed with me.
A God who cries.

Your counsel didn’t come down from a distant marble throne.
You stepped into the crowd, looking for me.
A God who draws near.
ME—A single lost sheep.
You took my hand
into your callused carpenter’s hand
and walked the journey of hope with me.
A God who touches humanity.

A Griever’s Wish List

Sit here. In quiet
uncertainty, just be
present. Hold
me with your tears. Know my
pain when you don’t have to.
Listen. I’m not alone.
Your heartbeat, your inhale and
exhale, remind me that I can bear
this weight of losing. Sit here.

It’s enough.

The Rhythm of the Cross

Before the swell of gospel melody,

The steady scales of scripture

Are plunked out in daily practice.

I play my Father’s masterpiece.

 

Before the crowd of miracles,

Prayer plods through lonely deserts

noting life’s measure.

I play my Father’s masterpiece.

 

Before the timing of pharisaic dissidence,

Lessons in theory reveal the authentic

character of the world’s composer.

I play my Father’s masterpiece.

 

Before the crescendo of resurrection,

there is a garden path of surrender

where I watch the winding procession of betrayal.

I play my Father’s masterpiece.

 

Before the harmony of fireside discipleship,

I close my eyes and listen to the master play.

Tuning my heart to the rhythm of the cross.

I play my Father’s masterpiece.

The Mystery of Hope

I cradled hope like a fragile fledgling.
It shivered—tender
warmth against the concrete cold of
my anguish.

Hope is a wild, open-palmed expectation. Because
You are good, it will fly.

 

Suicide & Prevention Hotline

National Suicide Hotline

If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 988 or go to the website at https://988lifeline.org/