Category: poetry

Christmas

We’ve all heard the saying,
“Walk a mile in my shoes-“
Meaning live even just a moment
Of my life before you judge

Me, or anything I’ve done.

We all have experiences and
Trials, that are unique to us,
Feeling pain, fear, and everything
Else- wondering who could ever relate,

If there’s anyone who could understand.

One night, under a single star,
A virgin girl had a baby, and
Laid him to rest in a bed of hay, surrounded
by animals who were trying to eat-

The humblest beginning for a King.

The King grew from a child to a
Man, feeling and experiencing life, and
All of the pain and joy, grief and happiness,
Betrayal and friendship, love and loss

That comes with being alive.

The King from Heaven, the Son of God
Came and walked miles in our shoes,
Putting Him in the perfect place to judge.
But He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

Because He only came to love.

Beautiful Ransom

Can a ransom be beautiful?

When the enemy takes you,
And keeps you, setting the price
So high, that you wonder who will pay,
Or if you’re worth the payment at all.

The enemy holds you down in your own
Regret, replaying mistake after mistake,
Drowning you in pain, and self-doubt.
Convincing you his way is better, maybe

Even easier, or freer. To live as the world,
To do what you want. Only to realize it
Becomes a wage you can never earn,
And a price you will never pay back.

Can a ransom be beautiful?

When the Son Himself steps down,
Becoming a little lower than the angels,
Leaving the throne to become human,
Suffering when He didn’t do anything wrong.

When nail pierced hands cast sin
As far as the east is from the west.
When a thorn crushed brow bled without
Complaint, against a splintering wood cross.

When death made it look like the enemy
Had won, just before the stone rolled away.
The Son paying the price, covering the wage,
Loving us, caring enough, to set us free.

Can a ransom be beautiful?

Yes,
When perfect love pays it all.

One of Me

You paint seas of purple skies,
designing every sunrise, sunset.
You place every sparkle in the starlit night,
yet, You made one of me.

You take each snow flake and crystal,
Structuring each one just so.
No two are alike, each are crafted,
Unique, yet, You made one of me.

You imagined the horse,
giving it strength, power, and beauty,
Fragility and grace in one being,
yet, You made one of me.

You filled the depths of the ocean,
With colors and creatures beyond
What can be seen, or believed,
yet, You made one of me.

You decorated the forests and plains,
With birds and their songs,
With beasts and their roars,
yet, You made one of me.

It’s so humbling, looking at creation,
looking at Your creativity at work,
to know the same God made me,
to know that You included me in Your plan.

You wrote my story, my purpose,
You crafted me, and shaped me.
And when I don’t feel good enough,
I look around, and remember,

You made one of me.

Home

They say home is where
Your heart is.
Maybe because it always
Goes with.

It stays in place,
Beating and pumping,
Keeping a rhythm,
Staying whole.

It’s doors and windows
Open, letting in other souls,
Places, and dreams
To hold.

But the wind blows,
And life changes,
Causing cracks and
Breaks to form.

But still, it goes on
Beating and pumping,
Though the new rhythm
Changed the song.

It has to move on, or
Move away, letting go,
Instead of holding on
To the pain.

Home is where the
Heart is, since it always
Stays. But home becomes
More than one place,

Found in the pieces
That are broken off,
That can’t come with-
Even though without them,

It’ll never be whole.

Believe

Your tears slide in silence,
Screaming for the words
Unsaid,
Streaming down a path
Unknown,
Struggling through what’s
Unseen.

You hide behind a mask,
Waiting for Someone to
See,
Hoping for Someone to
Search,
Longing for Someone to
Save—

To look through the
Unsaid, the unknown,
The unseen.
To love beyond what is
Seen, or what is found,
Or what is unworthy.

Please, believe me,
When I say,
There is a Love this sweet,
There is a Hope this pure,
There is a Salvation this free.

Nail pierced Hands,
A thorn cut Brow,
A Love that knows no bounds.

A Love that sees,
A Love that knows,
A Love that still loves,
Unconditionally.

You just need to,
Simply,
Believe.

Make New

Something fragile,
Something treasured,
Something filled with hopes,
Dreams and memories,

Gets the place high
On the shelf, where
It can be seen and admired.
Where it’s kept safe

From finger prints and
Greedy hands, who, maybe,
See it’s value, but not it’s
Beauty, or rarity.

But the guard gets let down.
Someone, or something, gets
Permission, to hold it, to
Feel it, to see-

How when the light hits it,
It shines and sparkles,
Glistens and gleams,
In all it’s meant to be.

But careless recklessness,
Brings it crashing to the floor,
Shattering glass into splinters,
And fear into sobs and tears.

On hands and knees, the
Pieces are gathered and clutched,
Piercing the skin over and over,
The hurt fresh with each poke.

On her own, she can’t fix it,
The more she tries, the tighter
she holds onto the pieces,
The more she bleeds.

She has to surrender,
Let each piece fall back
To the floor, and give it
To the One who made her.

To the One who can restore,
To the One who can heal,
To the One who can make new,

And can use her pain,
For His ultimate plan.

https://youtu.be/4_2aX_i4qpM

Meant to Be

Something out of place
May seem pretty in the
Right light, or from a
Certain angle.

But a feather on a fence
Will never fly, will never
Soar, or reach the heights
It was made to see.

So even when it hurts,
Even when questions are
Unanswered, even when confusion
Swirls- try to remember this:

God’s plan is so much better.
And He’s just relocating you,
Shaping you, focusing you,
For where you’re meant to be.

Even if you can’t see it,
Even if you can’t believe it,
From where You’re standing
Today.

Tree

The tree sees everything,
From sunrise to sunset,
From day to week,
From month to year.

She stands tall and strong,
Moving with the wind,
Withstanding the rain,
Never showing her fear.

She takes the heat,
And takes the freeze,
Staying consistent, constant,
Hiding every tear.

Her leaves fall and
Grow back, a repeated
Cycle, a guarantee-
She’ll always be here.

The tree sees everything,
From sunrise to sunset,
From day to week,
From month to year.

But who will ever
See her?