Tag: poem

The Shepherd, The Lamb

The sheep are bleating, crying
For help, longing for a place,
Where they can feel safe, where they
Know they are loved and belong.

They’ve wandered in darkness,
Misguided by the world,
Trying to fight off the predators,
But they can’t win the battle alone.

The Shepherd comes down,
To protect and to guide them,
Fighting off their enemies,
And shouldering their burdens.

He cares for every need,
Carrying the weak and wounded,
Leading them to quiet pastures,
Guarding their hearts from hurt.

He’s attentive, checking each one,
Showing them love and kindness,
Making sure no bone is broken,
Making sure no fear remains.

He knows what has to be done,
To bring the scattered sheep home,
He loves them enough to save their lives,
Even if it means giving up His own.

The Shepherd became the Lamb,
The Perfect One for sacrifice,
Silently, He suffered. Nails and thorns,
And sin, piercing, and weighing Him down.

But death on the cross could not hold Him,
The Lamb rose from the grave,
Defeating the darkness and the enemy,
Paying our debt, setting us free.

The Lamb now sits on the throne,
Shepherding the sheep, binging them in,
Until the day He comes back,
And wipes every tear from our eyes.

Your Plan

I loosen my grip,
Lift up my hands,
Let everything slide
Away.

I move each finger,
Maintain my composure,
Make myself take a
Breath.

I stare at my reflection,
Sigh so I can think,
See the pain mixed with
Hope.

I blink back the tears,
Break away from the mirror,
Bring myself to face the
Truth.

My grip will never be,
Tight enough, to hold on,
To anything that isn’t
Your plan.

And even in the moment,
When it hurts, as I question,
I know it’s for the best,
Because

You don’t make mistakes.

Instead of Me

You saw who I was
And died for me anyways
Love was not blind.
But all knowing.

Which makes the gift,
Even harder to understand.

You knew my flaws,
My inner heart, my thoughts,
And still, gave Your life
For mine.

You Who were perfect,
Who never made a mistake,

Silently let them nail You
to a cross, a crown of thorns,
pressed into your brow,
with blood dripping down,

The white and blameless lamb,
Stained crimson red, tarnished,

instead of

me.

Worry

The day starts in the east,
And ends in the west.
Light comes in, then leaves,
But so much happens in between.

We make mistakes,
And deal with heartaches,
Fighting fears and failures,
In what seems like every breath.

We question if we’re enough,
Doubting if we’re in the right place,
Worrying about past, and future,
Decisions and destinations.

We forget to see the victories,
Both the little and the big,
Focusing too much on the pain,
On the what if’s, the could have beens,

Missing the moments we’re in,
Speeding by the smiles or laughs,
Jumping over the joy we were
Designed to embrace.

A list has pros and cons,
A picture has lights and shadows,
A movie has a hero and a villain,
A story has conflict and resolution,

And so does life.

But the Writer of it all,
God, the Creator Himself,
Uses every mistake,
Every single heartache,

Just as much as He uses
The victories and the joy.
He sees your pain today,
As the testimony you’ll share

Tomorrow, with the soul who
Needs it most.

So don’t be afraid, little sheep.
Don’t worry about the past-
It’s forgiven. Don’t worry about the
Future- it’s secure.

Take a deep breath, and pray,
Surrendering the time between
The rise in the east, and the
Set in the west, for His glory,

For His purpose.

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.