Forever Spring

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Forever Spring

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Forever spring, yet

I’m fall-ing in all seasons–

His love kills winter.

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Shadows

Shadows

 

 

Words  fall like mist upon

morning; awaken the dust,

 

soak dry bones. I wipe off dew

and see that you have left your

 

prints on my flesh. I am no longer

a ghost; I move like wind, seek

 

quiet shadows, and translate

their words into music.

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Somewhere, Winter is Dying

Somewhere, winter is dying

Winter is dying somewhere

 

We know it is time.

The apple barrel is nearly empty

And I am no longer muffled

by the snow.

 

I am not sure what to do

when spring comes;

will I know where to step,

will I sink in the grass

or stand upon tender blades

with bleeding feet?

 

No, but the ground

is soft and the world

is mist and moving

like the cricket. I see the

owl and taste the wild

winds and I know

that rain is the lullaby

of spring.

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Pouring

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Pouring

 

chords in the wind float

fill the soul

words and notes

drown empty spaces

soak

like nothing else

 

 

a dry, withering, empty, cracked ground

needs water, replenishing, a pouring

to sprout shoots, seedlings,

full with the promise of fruit,

and the hope and desire of a deeper place,

held in the hollow of a gentle, powerful hand

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Waiting

Waiting

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White bell-shaped blooms bend slightly
Paying homage to depths beneath

Crisp grass forged upward
Through a deep darkness
By a cataclysmic split
Of a tiny seed

The ground brims
With tiny creatures wiggling
Rummaging about the vastness
Of open space, displaced momentarily
By bursting stalks

The ground beneath, burgeoning,
Hopeful seeds trembling,
Splitting sides,
Seeping upward,
Awaiting their glorious day–
And did you catch it, before it died?
Before it was chipped away,
Before it faded?

And life is like this,
This wait, this wait of spring
This waiting for bloom
This glancing at the cusp
Of something glorious
This waiting of–

All around me, the ground is plucked
And picked and upturned and raked
Struggling to shake off
The shreds of winter

And I have been waiting that long
For the land of dripping green.

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O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

Author (attributed to)- Bernard of Clairvaux; Translator from Latin to German – Paul Gerhardt; Translator into English – James W. Alexander (1830)
Tune: PASSION CHORALE (Hassler)

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O sacred Head, now wounded
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown:
how pale thou art with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish
which once was bright as morn!

What thou, my Lord, has suffered
was all for sinners’ gain;
mine, mine was the transgression,
but thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
‘Tis I deserve thy place;
look on me with thy favor,
vouchsafe to me thy grace.

What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest friend,
for this thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
O make me thine forever;
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love for thee.

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Resurrected Words

I spoke the words too soon, and immediately felt that pain in the pit of my stomach and wave of regret.

Have you been there, too? Spoken words too quickly and wish you had not?

I possess a weapon of mass destruction… or one that can offer immeasurable hope.

You possess it, too.

It’s called the tongue.

proverbs

If I profess to follow Christ, then the words I utter must also align with his character: my words must be words resurrected—not words of flesh, but words born of the spirit, words inspired by Holy Writ and Holy Spirit, funneled through the sieve of His word.

 How am I doing? Are my words passing the test? How about you?

Words kill, words give life;  they’re either poison or fruit—you choose. Proverbs 18:21 The Message

The tongue has the power of life and death; and those who love it will eat its fruit. Proverbs 18:21 NIV

This verse pierces the place where the choice is made to offer life or death through words. This weapon, the power of words, the tongue, can be used to destroy or to build… and it will either be one or the other. Life or Death. This is some kind of power – both humbling and scary.

My desire is to remember to ask myself before I speak: “Is this a resurrected word? Is this power harnessed, disciplined, carefully wielded, tamed, appropriate for the situation and surrendered to God? Or subject to the passion, fury, or sorrow of the moment?”

How many words of love and life have brought healing and hope to those in need of them? Therein lies the power of life, with words that restore, heal, offer hope, help, encouragement, words brimming with purpose and love. Since He is the source of Love, sharing words of love is the sharing of Him… any life-giving word, offering seed of hope, any substance of something solid, is the spoken manifestation of Him, a promise of fruit to be harvested, and a reflection of His glory. He won’t let that word come back void.

On the other hand, how many relationships have been destroyed, how many hearts broken, spirits crushed, because of words?  Therein lies the power of death and destruction— in the carnage of dying relationships, broken hearts, crushed hopes, shattered dreams, burned reputations, and time lost. We are surrounded daily by those stung, maimed, and amputated.

I have contributed to the mess. I stand on both sides, as one who has been amputated and one who has also wielded the knife. But does this not describe us all?

Have you hurt others with your words, truncating their hope, crushing their spirit, hurting and wounding like a scythe? Haven’t you also been wounded, cut deeply by words tossed at you?

There is hope to move beyond the carnage.

Drawing closer to Christ transforms me from the inside-out, so that what flows outward is more reflective of Life-giving speech, sounding more like the master than myself. Love is what gives me any kind of power to choose the better word, in any circumstance.

Gradually new limbs are replaced, and hope bursts alive, like a season of spring, which is something only possible in the realm of the healing words of God, but not by dwelling in the words of the flesh.

The Word of God is not subject to the physical laws at work in this world, so new growth, hope, new life, is possible, out of death – even the deadly destruction of the tongue.

This is the hope and life we have to offer in a world filled with the wounded and bleeding, including ourselves. We, the people of the resurrection, we have hope, and we have life, the Living Word, living inside of us. Life-giving, pulsing, flowing, rich, full of the breath of God, are the words we can offer to a world of word-cut amputees, words of hope for new limbs, new hopes, new dreams, and new Life.

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This post is being shared with The High Calling for the series on Resurrection. Read more stories or share your own story here. 
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