Burdened

My light is dimmed by my past
My joy is restricted by my errors
Consequences linger long after the fact
Wounds re-open just before healing
Life has shown me the dark of night
And taught me I cannot touch it
I cannot heal it, nor make it bright
Dark currents eddied around me
So in my absence nothing remained
And when I finally walked away
The darkness consumed all I'd done

Love?

Abandoned by the world you loved
Forsaken by all you held close
Proclaiming loudly that you are damned
Yet you declare to love me?

What love can you give me if you fail to know God's?
Your love is a shadow of a shadow, a grain of silt
Without God your affections cannot be true
And with God you would not need me to dry your tears

Redemption

All around me bright and cheery faces,
Seen as through a dark curtain
fail to change my mood.

I wear a mask of cheerfulness,
fooling everyone with my facade,
but I know the truth.

All that lies beneath my sham,
loneliness, fear, anger,
consumes all joy.

Who can rescue me from my turmoil?
I cry out to my God,
'Redeem me!'

'Only you can save me from my condition,
Repair my heart O God.
Renew my spirit.'

How's it going?

Some times I really hate that question because it defies a one-word explanation. An example would be the week two years ago when my grandma died, two of my good friends got married, and conversation was re-initiated between me and a friend whom I had deeply wounded. I'm sure of my grandmother's salvation, I was happy my friends got married, and I was filled with joy at the opportunity for reconciliation. But how do you sum that up? I could have said, "I'm good" or "Ok" or "fine" but none of those answers satisfied the question. Sure the sum of events was good, but the stress, grief and joy were near overwhelming. Consequently a good number of people got an earful that week for asking a simple greeting. So let this post be a warning and an invitation: If you ask me, be prepared to listen, and if I ask, please answer as completely as you need.

Do Do

I was reminded yesterday in two vivid ways how Christian living can be viewed from differing perspectives. I went to a funeral for a distant relative who I felt was worthy of paying respects to. She was an incredible servant in the community and took the joy of Christ into every situation. The vast majority of the service was about those sort of things, the things she did. On the flipside earlier in the day I was talking to a friend (who happens to be one of my best friend's wife) who was trying to hook me up. The funny thing was that when describing my faith to the girl in question (who I am going to ask out BTW) my friend focused on the things that I didn't do. Doesn't party or smoke often, not into the whole sex before marriage thing, doesn't cuss too much....ect. True Christianity is both of those things - the actions and the inactions - but in my opinion and in my life I'd rather have the actions be remembered or noticed by others and by God. Who wants to be remembered for what they didn't do?

Music

No sweeter sound than a cry
No better prayer than a wail
Earnest, heart-felt, emotional
Our voice is louder when it's true
When it's filled with pain
Or bursting with joy
Or racked with grief
Our song is music only if there is feeling
It is beautiful only after suffering
It glorifies only in true exultation

Two posts in a row?

And now for a completely pointless rhyming poem:

I stretch out my feet and wiggle my toe
Tapping keys quickly, to what end I don't know
I open my mind and let the words flow
Line by line I watch it grow
Is it a masterpiece? By all means NO!
It simply means there are two posts in a row

I asked, I begged, I pleaded, I wept, I mourned, I apologized, I fasted, I hoped. What would it mean if my prayers were answered? What would it mean if I was used to answer them?
I'm terrified and excited by the thought. I asked God to move, but the weight of his movement leaves me feeling weak in the knees both at my lowly status and at God's love. Plainly put, I'm scared of the path in front of me. It could be the end of my hoping, a prolonged exercise in patience, or something different entirely.

The Coat

Coat tails soaked in the purest of blood

A jacket tainted by a young heart’s first love

A memory born that can not be escaped

A ghost in my head that won’t be silenced

A feeling inside that I can not resist

A pain in the pit that through all things persists

To burn the coat would not end the pain

So I don my jacket and weather the rain

© 2005 Matt Naylor