{Almost}

My hand cramps, refusing

To open and accept the gift.

Instead I hold, stubborn, 

On what I know to be worthless,

And from my tight, clenched fist, 

The offering slips through my grasp

And leaves mere skeletons

Of pleasure between my fingers -

Bare bones sucked dry of life, 

Like guilt. Frantically, I open

My hands to remedy

The moment, but find I must wait

For another. 

Photo Credit: Shin, Crom. dandelion. 20 May 2016. Flickr Creative Commons.

It's awful how easily

A soul can slit the fragile veil

And slip from time-bound space

To all there is beyond

Unnoticed.

While families sit for dinner,

And women shop for evening gowns

And couples argue

And babies nap

Oblivious.

Full

 If it's better to carve and build lives for ourselves,

Than to build tir'lessly, just to share -

If it's better to win recognition than scorn -

If "one's duty" is just grasping air -

If it's better to soak in life's pleasures,

Than to live, martyr-like, full of cares -

Then of all men we're most to be pitied,

For they're needless, these burdens we bear.

If the wellspring of kindness is deep within self -
If the source of all mercy is "me" -
If the total compassion we bring to the world,
Is summ'd up in what our hearts can be -
If it's only from what we can gather within,
That we're able to give gen'rously -
Then of all men, those 'round us are ruined,
For we're riddled with depravity.

But if purpose and love are not measured from man -
If a source exists, far beyond "I"-
If we find grander meaning in losing ourselves,
Than in having a name we're known by - 
If, on earth, all deemed worthy is proved to be naught,
And those knowing their sin are proved right -
Then of all men we're most to be envied,
For eternity's lived in our sight.

Photo Credit. Sunter, Craig. Full Time !. 28 September 2014. Flickr Creative Commons

As If

He works "all things together for good," so we hear.

As if blessings were really the sequel to tears!

As if evil surroundings of culture and man,

Could be turned into goodness, if left in His hand!

As if pain could be growth, as if hate garnered love-

As if all of this hurting is used by above!

As if blatant defiance, once seen and confessed,

Can deserve to be useful in showing His best.

As if turning our backs doesn't mean it's the end,

But instead is the proving of Who is our Friend.

As if when we, like Rahab, His law, careless, break,

And consider it right- a "white lie" for His sake -

As if such filthy rags, which our vanity airs,

Could be glorious tapestries, treasured with care.

As if scrawls on ripped paper were great works of art!

As if He, somehow - truly - sees only the heart,

And loves me in spite of the rest.

{photo credit}

Opportunity

A year ago we dared to dream.

We built our castles - built them high,

And while we spun them out of reach,

We searched for stairways to the sky.

Each took his different, questing way,
Our paths together, yet alone.

"Impossible," we would not say,
But "Courage," through the world we roam.

Today, quite unexpectedly,

My feet have found the cloud-built stair.

Is this my castle? This, my dream?

These steps could lead me anywhere.

These steps - they could lead anywhere.

{photo credit}

Her face was warm, her light, a balm

That cold October night.

Bright comfort in a black of calm,

When my soul needed light.

Chilled, quiv'ring sparks before her bowed

Above, in sky's great hall,

And I - I lay upon the ground,

'Midst wooded sent'nels, tall.

Away, her black and glassy dome

Arched far beyond my touch.

Like pains & fears in my heart, home,

That troubled me so much.

And there it was, her gentle rays

Whispered-reminders sent.

As long as wander'rs seek a way

She guides the heaven-bent.

Magnificent, and glowing high,

Her duty is to raise,

Her light against a light-void sky

And voice in pure-white praise.

Silence and peace, in harmony,

Entwine against the fears.

And when the dawn's dew fell to me

It met with thankful tears.

photo credit

We Shall Find the Stars

Every now and then, I discover a phrase, a paragraph, or a poem wherein a feeling I had, deep down inside, is somehow articulated far beyond what I had ever thought possible. C.S. Lewis does this the most frequently of any other writer I have read to date, leaving many of his words permanently engraved in my mind. Today, however, I share with you a prayer that brought me almost to tears, penned by a man not famous for his words, but for his seamanship. A man of action, he clearly saw the dangers and the missed opportunities of a life lived in the safe zone, and he not only feared, but fled, the consequences of complacency.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Disturb us, Lord, when We are 

Too well pleased with ourselves,

When our dreams have come true

Because we have dreamed too little,

When we arrived safely

Because we sailed too close to shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when

With the abundance of things we possess

We have lost our thirst

For the waters of life,

We have ceased to dream of eternity

And in our efforts to build a new earth,

We have allowed our vision

Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,

To venture on wider seas

Where storms will show your mastery;

Where losing sight of land,

We shall find the stars.

We ask You to push back 

The horizons of our hopes;

And to push into the future

In strength, courage, hope, and love."

-- Prayer of Sir Francis Drake, 1577

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Disturb us, Lord. We long to see the stars.

photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jamesjordan/533269264/

{Psalm}

My "proper" post will be on Wednesday this week. In the meantime: a meager collection of words seeking to describe something for which the words have not been formed...

With awe, I feel this quiet

Creep over my soul again,

Transcending all angst and chaos

And settling deep within.

One moment - 

One moment is all I feel,

Though many are floating by.

The wind blust'ring 'round

And the sun-kisses, warm,

Have buried me deep in the sky.

And there, in the still, is my quiet,

Looking down at the spark'ling blue.

For the heavens declare such a glory:

All creation's in awe of You.

There's nothing -

There's nothing my pen can write

(For never will words be found),

Explaining the thrill

And the deafening joy

Of a praise that by silence, sounds.

The Gate

Sunday, June 23rd, 2013: Traveling from Paris to Pierrefond, we stopped briefly in Noyon ~ Calvin's birthplace. As I walked into the cathedral, his cathedral for the first twelve years of his life, I was greeted with flying ceilings, cold stones, and musty smells. Beautiful.

Impersonal.

Empty.

Dead.

I re-emerged into sunlight, shining through the gate and the cobwebs of sadness in my mind, and I knew there were more chapters to this story than the one I had just read...

In fervor were the first stones laid,

A vision, sparked with passion, born.

Those who began would see no end,

But gave their eve for others' morn.

So slaved away a century,

And arches soared, as heaven-bound.

No passion, art, or beauty spared -

For this small church in hamlet-town.

Long-looked-for moment finally come,

The last day darkened, growing late,

While men of ages watched with tears

As a Cross was placed upon the gate.

How brief the moments to be found

When awe and praise are in their right!

For men have long grasped for the pow'r

That's due to One beyond our sight.

Thus, silks and satins swept the floors:

Dust off the stones, but in the soul.

As self-important knowledge hid

The truth from those within its hold.

Long-foreseen darkness come at last,

The Ignorant renounced the Great,

And turned their backs on all that awes.

Still the Cross stood guard above the gate.

Abandoned. Crumpling ages watch

The growing dirt, in plain sight now.

For even semblance of this form

Has been cast off, and no one bows.

No man, no king, no priest, no god

Will glory-hungry masses praise.

Becoming gods, men lost the great,

And shattered all they meant to raise.

And, yet, dear Providence, a Light,

Still flickers here, while Mercy waits,

For those to come who love the church,

Where a Cross stands still, above the gate. 

Two Lists

Photo Credit

If, today, time set me free,

Released me to Eternity,

Loos'd my body-bound, cramped soul,

To wing toward home - Oh blessed pull!

If forewarned, I knew the day,

The time, the place, the means, the way,

Then, I know, two lists I'd find

Engraved, heart-deep, within my mind.

Two lists - one silent plea.

 

First for "had" my heart would yearn

As untouched aspirations burn

Hot, with shame for goals unreached

Which should and could have been achieved.

"Had" I only tithed my time,

A tenth from friends to those in crime.

Broken hearts, lives grasped by sin,

And I not there to speak of Him!

"Had, had" - it haunts each turn.

 

"Had" - the thoughts crowd, choking air -

Had I the fortitude to dare

Love to speak, its truth, its pow'r.

God's love to all, through me, each hour.

Spoken, such a word does sway

All focus from life's whir'ling fray.

When upon great Love one rests

All hateful things (greed, selfishness)

Grow useless, dull, and rare.

 

No reprieve from piercing thoughts

Is granted me in the "had-nots".

Knowing, watching today's sun

I'd wish I "had not" this race run

Prayerless - or so nearly so

That I did only half-way grow.

Quiv'ring birch 'mongst ancient oaks

With tremb'ling faith that often chokes

And, but for Grace, would rot.

 

Oh, I wish in patience I

"Had not" refused again to try

Books unread and songs unplayed

With Little, learning fingers' aid.

And I wish I had not giv'n

Study of the One, the Ris'n

For a few more moments' rest.

What thankless trade of laziness

For spirit, parched and dry!

 

If, today, time set me free,

Released me to Eternity,

Throwing off sin's weight I'd soar

To live with Glory, evermore.

Joy consumes one, waiting thus,

But while my spirit's bound by dust,

Lists upon my heart I'll keep

Lest in the end I fall asleep.

For thieves come quietly.

 

 

"So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." - Psalm 90:12

 

 

"Two Lists" (c)2012 - to be used only with permission.

The Meeting Place

Photo Credit

 

Things have grown rather quiet in SarahJayne's blogland. There are some wonderfully faithful bloggers - and I love reading your blogs, regardless of my lack of comments! - but for me, writing for the benefit of the world wide web seems to have slipped quietly into the shadows of LIFE. Often - sometimes multiple times a day - I think to myself "I should blog about _______." But alas, I seem to be lacking in not only time, but also inspiration. So for now, you persevering readers, I re-post this little poem I wrote a few years ago under similar duress. It has never been properly named, but the title I'm liking this evening - excuse me, this morning - is "The Meeting Place" - what do you think?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A hundred thoughts run through my head,

And all, I think, of worthy note,

So settle I, and take my pen,

Happy, these empty sheets to coat.

 

When, suddenly, my mind is blank,

A dismal echo of the page.

I stop, and wait, and wish away

The hopeless hold of my mind's cage.

 

Yet - gone - I find my tales untold,

Of sun, and smiles, and lessons learned,

And in their place a gaping hole,

From whence no lonely thought's returned.

 

So, sighing now, my pen I lay

Back down upon this empty sheet,

Unhapp'ly going 'bout my way,

'Til thoughts and words on paper meet.
 

One Runner's Thoughts

Photo Credit


When the rain is pounding on the roof so hard it pounds your head,
When the cold and wet and dark have no appeal for you (in bed),
When the wind is howling up a storm,
When this is now the weather's norm,
Then you'll find that, as you sit up, your limbs are made of lead.

When you show great strength by swinging out your weight-feet to the floor,
When you overcome great distances from bed's edge to the door,
When you've put an end to brother's sleep,
And borrowed sweats that stop rain's seep,
Then you'll find that this delay has just encouraged rain's downpour.

When you persevere and don the sweats, and tie on running shoes,
When you tell yourself that going out does not mean that you lose,
When you, sighing, leave the quiet house,
With the rain's one mission: you to douse,
Then you'll find your comfort thinking that the right thing you did choose.

In no time you're a-running 'round and 'round the sopping track,
While the wind is pushing ever, try'ng to blow you sliding back,
And with little droplets, pointed shards,
It cuts you face with every yard...
And you find the wind a-soaking, pulling, like a stubb'rn pack.

But you run your miles, pressing on, contin'ing to the end,
Expertly dodging puddles as you round the final bend,
To finish fin'ly, gasping air,
And head toward warmth with fix-ed stare,
The while saying "I'm crazy - this habit I must end!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What's the definition of insanity?" Ben asked the other morning, zipping up his top-most layer of protection again the torrential rain and driving wind. I was shivering too hard to answer at first, but finally managed, in a small voice, "Doing the same thing over and over again, while expecting different results?" "Yeah, well," he replied as, with hoods already dripping we reached the track, "Something just got added to the list."

Teacup

Tiny, fairy-formed pink china,
Encased in front by glass,
Allowed this sheltered glimpse of life
Continu'lly whirring past.
Until the o-so-special day,
Pulled from her shelf, and used in play.

photo credit

NaPoMo?

Now you say, "Na-Po-What?"


I found out from my aunt's blog t'other day that April is National Poetry Month. Who knew? I also found out - again from her blog - that a haiku is actually a pretty cool form of poetry. This discovery was confirmed a few days later when a friend showed me a page of haikus she had written - all very amazing!


I had never written a haiku. To be completely honest, the form seemed rather...shhhh...silly. But now that I have been proven wrong, I decided I ought to at least try one. So I did. And it kind of worked.

Shimmer like a dress,

Sparkle like a lady's laugh,

Sunlight and water.

Somewhat weird, somewhat cool, not at all conforming to strict haiku format, but hey, first tries aren't supposed to be perfect.

Do you like haikus? Have you ever written some? I'd love to see them in a comment!