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| I guess this is the unintentional sequel to June's poem (thus the title, Cross Poem 2; or alternately: Testimony).
Inspiration, as before, was C. J. Mahaney's Living The Cross Centered Life; but also, Victoria's awesome art. ^_^ If the meter feels weird, I was writing it roughly to the second half of this amazing song. Grazie (and grace!) to all!
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It wasn't that long since I was lost
And not long ago that I found
My righteousness alone
Would quickly exhaust
Unless I saw the Christ on the cross.
Despising Him for dying in my place,
I tried to do it all by myself.
I did not understand
That this would erase
The very definition of grace.
My self-wrought righteousness finally failed
And led me to the edge of a gulf
I knew I could not cross.
My sin was unveiled
In sight of the Innocent One nailed.
But all at once my vision was glossed
And all I could see was glorious light.
The bloodied wood shone bright
Highlighting the cost
Of the bridge that looked like a cross.
Yet it was for me that Jesus died!
And His arm is never too short
That He cannot save
Or ransom His bride
And bring her safely home to His side.
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| My time home so far has been extremely refreshing; the gospel and the cross in particular seems to be capturing my attention almost distractingly...and I mean that entirely positive way. I'm hoping it will be a trend that continues throughout the summer--and it should: I'm reading Living the Cross-Centered Life with my Sunday School class over the summer. ^_^
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Oh Jesus, take me to the cross
and point me to the wood
Your Father's will commanded should
be built to bear the weight
of all my sin--but in my place:
a sacrificial Lamb.
Oh Jesus, take me to the cross
and point me to the nails
that men had shaped and put on sale
for one night's decent meal
unknowing that their scrap of steel
would pierce Your hands and feet.
Oh Jesus, take me to the cross
and point me to the sign
above Your thorn-crown to define
the reason that You died;
but Pilate's accusation lied:
my name should have been there.
Oh Jesus, take me to the cross
and point me to the blood
that's pooling in Golgatha mud
but cleansing every stain.
It was my sin that caused this pain
but You were killed instead.
Oh Jesus, take me to the cross
and point me to the One
who breathed a sigh and said, "It's done!"
enduring to the last
and demonstrating unsurpassed
the glory of such love.
Oh Jesus, take me to the cross!
What mercy! Oh, what grace!
The Father turned away His face--
a momentary shun
so one day I could see the Son
in heaven's timeless bliss.
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| This is in the present tense for a reason...
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Her shadowy appearance
gets worse as I draw near
but with some perseverance
her image becomes clear:
Deep scars have well distorted
her normalcy or grace
but I cannot be thwarted
and shyly touch her face.
The myrrh-tears she is bleeding
aren't visible at all
but I know she is pleading
a silent, heart-felt call.
I see her desperation
and watch her search for life
flirting with frustration
like running with a knife.
With futile strength she races
behind a smart disguise
but naïvely embraces
the key to her demise.
She won't admit she's falling
or that the Lord is near.
Love patiently is calling
to seek Him while He's here.
His grace is everlasting
to those who feel defeat.
He died to save those casting
their sins at Jesus' feet.
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And now, a goodbye to the parents who have invested the past nineteen years of their lives in me. They won't celebrate their anniversary until September 12th, but I already was thinking about their anniversary because the church celebrated it early...
I love you both. May your 41st year be as blessed as the last have have been. ^_^
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With every passing day
this calendar grows older
and every page betrays
the history made within it.
Each crease and stain reveals
through coffee mug-shaped circles
the time spent over meals
of pouring out our hearts.
The future has now come
and is no longer "future."
The present has become
the past and still--I love you.
This witness of our lives
that turned upon the wall
has seen us strive and thrive
yet through it all, grow closer.
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| My farewell to life as I know it; specifically, my childhood. The mental image I was working from was a single achene from a dandelion clock not wanting to "leave the nest"--so to speak.
[Edit:] Micah wrote some amazing music for this poem, which should shortly be available on Sibelius, and which you can hear below now. Thanks, Micah!
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Day by day
every ray
seemed to say,
"Grow, child, grow."
Nurtured by
mid-July's
sunny skies:
"Grow, child, grow."
I was one
of Sun's sons
not quite done:
"Grow, child, grow."
In a word
the world blurred
and I heard,
"Go, child, go.
Time has passed
rather fast.
Now, at last
go, child, go."
Blow by blow
here I go
apropos.
"Go, child, go...
...and bloom."
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