poem Archives - Page 2 of 6 - Turning the Page on Suicide

Posts Tagged: poem

The Rhythm of the Cross

Posted April 7, 2023 | Karisa Moore

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

Posted December 23, 2022 | Karisa Moore

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.

Immanuel Came

Posted December 16, 2022 | Karisa Moore

You didn’t hold Christmas back from my troubles.
You slipped into my dirty world on a crowded
night of cares, with a star and angels as a birth
announcement.

Chubby fingers curled around my broken
heart before I knew I needed you. The earthy
the fragrance of shepherds, a stable, a carpenter,
and a young girl seems an unexpected
entrance for a king.
You lifted my tear-stained cheeks to
take in the wonder of Your presence.

My soul, crushed by a million fears,
found joy and peace in a tiny dependent baby—
God dependent upon a woman, the words
twist in my mouth as sacrilege. Yet you
upended my every flesh-tainted notion
of your holiness.

God with me, so that
I know that I know my sorrow
is not in vain.

A tangible God, for a flesh and bones sinner,
nestled in strips of cloth. I can hardly take
the majesty of your complete love.

The Sweet Fragrance of Worship

Posted July 28, 2022 | Karisa Moore

Mmm, what is that sweet fragrance?

I am learning to crawl onto
the altar of trust,
daily,
and die to self.
Oh God, refine me.
In the flames of suffering,
nothing else matters but You.
Burn off all that hinders
until thoughts and actions renew.
And I remain
whole and pleasing to You.

Mmm, what is that sweet fragrance?

Worship.

Made in Your Image

Posted July 26, 2022 | Karisa Moore

Twisted by confusion and sin—
My body lay, crumbled, wearing rust
among the discarded and dispised things
of this world.
Worth. Purpose. What were those?
I was no longer useful.

Until you gathered my broken pieces
and welded my soul
into a reflection of your identity.
You gave me my wings of faith.
Now I soar with love, joy, and hope.

Unfair Fight

Posted July 12, 2022 | Karisa Moore

I shouldn’t be standing.
You’ve twisted and broken my body so many times
The count should be over.
How many knockout punches can I sustain?

As many as He allows.

You should have known you’d lose.
My manager bought the match with His life.
He already wears the crown,
King of kings and Lord of lords and I
get to share in His glory.

Furnace of Hope (Choka Haiku)

Posted July 7, 2022 | Karisa Moore

Belief’s amber warmth
chilled black by fear. I wonder—
Do I exist here?

Desolate nightmare
Purple bruises on repeat—
You rescued my heart.

Tender shoots of trust
sprout knowing Your faithfulness—
Nightmare crushed crimson.

Unquenchable Hope
stands beside. I emerge gold—
Revealed by evil.

Furnace of obedience
Penned before Satan’s ink dried.

The Father’s Heart

Posted July 5, 2022 | Karisa Moore

Start here. In
the shivering nakedness
of not knowing but
being known. A rebirth.
Where your heartbeat
nestles under the Father’s. Listen.
His voice secures
your every anxious thought when
He calls you by name. Beloved.
Finally, you can rest in His
sovereignty.

A Hidden Spring of Joy in my Sorrow

Posted June 30, 2022 | Karisa Moore

It is now ten years, and I am reposting this blog post from 2022 because it encouraged my soul and I pray that it does yours. You may be in the desert where there seems to be no provision. What if that’s the illusion and not an oasis of water? What if all you and I need is gifted at a moments notice by a God who is not hindered by the deserts in our lives. May God richly provide for you. May the joy of his presence bubble up for your soul and you declare that He is enough for you. Amen

When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the LORD will hear them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them.

Isaiah 41:17-18, KJV

Joy Where There Should Only Be Sorrow

What is this hidden spring that bubbles up
from the sorrow-baked cracks of my despair
and satisfies my soul with joy where
there should be only sorrow?

Turning my Page

Tomorrow is July 1st and I should be dreading it, but I’m not.

Jonathan will be gone eight years, and for the first time I feel joy leading up to that terrible date. It is literally bubbling up and causing me to laugh out loud today.

Not in spite of my loss, not ignoring the ache of loss, but because Jesus’ presence, his plan, and his purpose far outway anything I have or will ever experience in the future. He is shaping my grief.

How do I know this?

I have been reading through the Bible this year which includes readings from both the Old Testament and New as well as a Psalm. The thread of God’s trustworthiness is there. His sovereignty over every experience, including the suicide of my son, is imprinted in every description of loss,, rebellion, redemption. Stories such as the overwhelming sorrow of Job, the prophets, David, Jesus, and his disciples. Scripture was like a golden thread of hope that, once pulled, I could see in vivid detail that God was not asleep at the wheel when Jonathan died or at any other moment in my life.

So tonight I cry out to a God who hears. I pray for you my dearest readers and friends. Don’t lose hope! I mourn with you as many of you walk through the deepest layers of grief and suffering. I lean into the Holy Spirit’s leading. Nothing is impossible for my God. Including springs of joy in the desert wasteland of a child I loved deeply dying by suicide. I don’t dread tomorrow because Jesus, I know you are there.

Lord, so many of us are dying of thirst from walking through deserts of hopeless circumstances. Help us to put our faith in your living water that never runs dry. Amen

Even in Deserts I Grow

Posted June 28, 2022 | Karisa Moore

I was planted in the parched desert of suffering.
Others scoffed at The Gardener who sows
in such unforgiving ground.
“Nothing could ever grow in that graveyard.”
They think they know better how to be fruitful.
Scattering seeds in shallow
soil of rich pleasure and ignore the weeds
that will one day choke them out.
But joy grows in this barren land
chosen for me.
I can’t depend upon myself to sustain.
I look to Him for rain.
Lean into His whispering wind for understanding.
Open my heart to the sunshine of His love,
Hope in the fruit I cannot yet see.
Faith and trust grow here.
I know that I know, The Gardener loves reaping a harvest.
Even in deserts
There are reminders that He is near.

Posts Tagged: poem

Joy Where There Should Only Be Sorrow

Turning my Page

National Suicide Hotline