Busker

A wise old man
with his guitar
Busking,
Tending a scar

Seeing the pigeons
scanning the floor
stirs memories
millennia old

He eyes the preacher
across the street
and he recalls
the one he greets

Why won't you listen?
Why don't you hear?
I'm calling for you,
I'm calling you near

He sees the people
Avoiding his gaze
Seeing their faces
He remembers again

Before thrones
Speaking God's word
Calling down fire
Making God heard

Faster than chariots
Water wide open
The furnace explosion
The whirlwind to Heaven

Why won't you listen?
Why do you not hear?
I'm calling for you,
I'm calling you near

He's ignored
People pass by
Not seeing him
Not hearing his cry

Why won't you listen?
Why do you not hear?
I'm calling for you,
I'm calling you near

Success

My success is not measured in how many people love me, but in how much I love God and people.

I don't need to worry how many people attend my wedding or my funeral, but how many weddings and funerals I attend out of love.

I cannot be loved by all, for their hearts are not mine to control, but I can love all, for my heart is my own, to let harden or to pour out. I choose to pour it out. I need to love people as I love myself, and to love God with my all.

A little note

Of late it has been hard to keep going. It seems there is too much work and too much study and not enough friends and too little hope.

I still worship God though, because I that's all I can do. How many times have I sung that I will praise through hardship? So I try to. The silly thing is it's not really hard. I have food, and a roof and a bed. It's funny how ambiguous a hard life is really. In this post-modern world it's anything I suppose.

I don't have much else to say. I love God still and that is the sum total of my identity at the moment. Perhaps that is all it ever will be.

In the Image of God

A poem about being made in the image of God:

Looking down upon a still lake,
Someone watches from below,
My reflection, blurred,
And I look to the heavens,
Wondering,
Is this how God sees us?
The essence of how I look reflected in a lake,
The essence of who God is reflected in a person?
Perhaps it is not how we look,
Perhaps it is not how we think,
Perhaps it is not what we do,
Perhaps it is not who we are,
Perhaps it is not found in others,

Perhaps it is found in love.

Over me

The binding chains are loosed again
Free from my sin, my pain has gone
Released, redeemed, saved, repented
Rocked by your love, I stand in awe

Your love standing over me
Your love watching over me
Your love incredible
Your love, your love

Your love took all my fears
Your love has strengthened my feet
My arms, ready for battle
The blood you gave was not in vain

You’re watching over me x4
Watching over me

Your love, guarding over me
Your love, washing over me,
Your love, unbeatable
Your love, your love

I wrestled with love the other day

I wrote this poem when my friend suggested that perhaps Jesus does not require our all. Admittedly the end is a bit cheesy, but it gets the point across.


I wrestled with love the other day,
I fought with it, and I pounded it,

I tried to shove it out the door,
Throw it down the street,
I yelled at it to leave,
But it refused to be beat,

I told it it’s unwanted,
I told it to leave my life,
I don’t want it to rule me,
I just want it for my wife,

Why should I feed the hungry?
Why should I give my all?
I am happy where I am,
Not changing anything at all,

I wrestled and I fought,
I shouted out abuse,
It was written on my heart,
It really would not lose,

I wrestled with love the other day,
I fought with it, and I pounded it,
It tore apart my heart,
But it has taken hold of me,
I cannot wait to start,

Show me the poor and broken,
Take me to the lost,
I will give my all,
No matter what the cost,

I will follow Jesus,
Through all the highs and lows,
He asked me to follow,
And in him my love grows.