One blade of grass on the rolling hills
One grain of sand on the shore
One drop of the infinite ocean
Only one-nothing more.

One shining star in the midnight sky
One seed in fields of thousands
Just one soul among the myriads
Lost in the deafening sounds.

How can just one change the landscape?
What would one life have to do
To mold the countless lives around her,
Make them beautiful and new?

If one blade of grass was greener
Stronger, taller than the rest
Would not the others seek to reach her
Try to grow their very best?

If one grain of sand sought an oyster
That she might become a pearl
The others would seek her beauty
Try to be just like her.

If one drop within the ocean
Absorbed all the salt it could
Would not the other drops decide
As well, that they all should?

If one shining star shone brighter
Than all other stars combined
Those other stars would try to be
The brightest star that shined.

If one seed grew roots much faster
Than the many seeds around
Would not those seeds drink in the sunlight
Pushing deeper underground?

But, this is the real question,
What if one soul took a stand
Refused to buckle under
Temptation’s mighty hand?

What if she lived her daily life
With Christ’s love in her soul
And tried to show to others
How He has made her whole?

If one soul became the vessel
God intended her to be
Jesus’ love would overflow her
And flow out to you and me.

 

Really?

Do you really need to feel Him
Rock the earth from side to side?
Do you truly think He has to
Blow down cities far and wide?

In order to believe Him,
Must you glow with sudden light?
In order to obey Him,
Must He prove that He is right?

He’s God and can do anything
We all know that for sure
But, what happened to our faith in
What He’s said and nothing more?

We shouldn’t need a miracle
To know that He is there
Our jaws should never drop in shock
When He answers a prayer.

Has He never shown us
What He says is always true?
Have we never seen Him work,
Seen what His power can do?

Let us ask of our Heavenly Father
Trusting He’ll hear when we pray
And let us remember He loves us too much
To ever lead us astray.

Struggling up Golgotha’s hill
In pain and agony
A cruel cross upon His back
That’s bleeding endlessly.

Roman soldiers lead Him
To the place where He’s to die
They hatefully insult Him
Yet He offers no reply.

His body’s weak from beatings
Blood is streaming down His face
He stretches His arms wide
As if to offer an embrace

To the soldiers, to His killers
To the ones that put Him there
To all people ever on this earth
Whose sins He now must bear.

But, His offer is rejected
As they pierce His loving hands
Still, as they set the cross erect
He proves His offer stands.

Limply hanging all alone
His arms outstretched remain
For love that’s unconditional
Is not made weak through pain.

The love of my Lord Jesus
I know will never fail
No matter what mistakes we make
Love always shall prevail.

Never has a greater love
Than His great love been shown
At Calvary, God’s only Son
Made all our sins His own.

 

Bleeding Tears

As she pushes through the noisy crowd
She thinks on days gone by
For twelve long years she’s suffered
Borne the same, no tears to cry.

Today might be her only chance
A healer’s passing through
She knows no pills, no doctors,
And no cures will ever do.

They’d said, “He is a prophet
Ateacher, leader, king!”
But to her, a poor, ill woman
All that doesn’t mean a thing.

What she needs now is healing
Relief from constant pain
She needs a miracle divine
To free her from the shame.

She needs someone to care enough
To feed her hungry soul
Someone who won’t charge a fee
To make her body whole.

All that she has ever known
Is loneliness and scorn
Society’s condemned her
Her heart is weak and torn.

The flickering candle of her life
Will blow out very soon
Her little strength is fading
Like the waning of the moon.

With nothing left to live for
Yet no hope for when she dies
She forces her way through the crowds
Ignoring piercing eyes.

I’m just an interruption
Echoes, nagging at her brain
For a second, she turns back
I can’t be failed again.

But a diiferent voice inside her
Urges, No you mustn’t go
This healer may be your last chance
How are you to know?

It may be true that He’s God’s Son
Or a heavenly prophet sent.
So, she turns back to those piercing eyes
And heeds the counsel lent.

She sees Him circled closely round
Jesus of Nazareth
The people absorbing every word
Cherishing each breath.

I’ll never reach Him now, she pants
Besides He won’t heal me.
He raises the children of noblemen
And he makes the blind to see.

But surely, I’m not as important as they
My issue is minor at best
Requesting for healing will only be mocked
I never again will find rest.

As she is struggling fiercely within
Without she fights forward much more
Finally, her weak legs refuse to move on
And she drops, with her face to the floor.

The crowds do not notice, she’s lost in the noise
Silent and helpless, unseen
Her story of life in this moment is told
And she feels her hot pent-up tears stream.

Her eyes a blur, she glances
At the face of whose feet she’s beside
She’s taken aback when she finds it is Him
She watches Him, eyes open wide.

“I’ve reached Him, I’ve reached Him,” she utters in shock
“Maybe to be healed I must
Only reach out, touch the hem of his robe,
And place in Him my simple trust.”

Grasping for any relief she can get
She reaches for Him, crying out
The tip of her finger touches His robe
And washes away all her doubt.

Her strength is returning, the bleeding has stopped
She sits up shocked, Healing that soon?
The candle is steadily burning again
Her sky boasts a shining full moon.

Who is this man?, her heart races in fear
And amazement that she cannot hide
Suddenly, all become silent. She hears
“Who touched me?” from Christ at her side.

He felt that? It can’t be, she thinks, there’s no way
The crowd probably bumped Him, that’s it.
Then He repeats it “Who touched me?” He asks
And she falls at His feet to admit.

“My Lord, please forgive me, but for twelve hard years
I’ve suffered and bled constantly.
Penniless, You were my very last hope
For all I loved abandoned me.”

“I’d lived with the shame and the scorn for so long
The pain was so fierce, my mind reeled.
I thought if I only could reach, touch your clothes
And trust You, then I would be healed.”

His soft knowing eyes show her He has forgiv’n
That He knows of her pure, longing heart
That He knows of the healing He’s laid upon her
And He wants to give her a new start.

“Go your way in peace, my child,
Your faith has made you whole.”
She gives Him a deeply grateful smile
And runs out, new joy in her soul.

She knows she must go and tell others the news
Of the Son of God Most High
Of how He healed her, forgave her soul
And wiped all the tears from her eyes.

 

Accusing Shame

The night is dark around me
All hopes I had are lost
My Lord, my precious Jesus
Is being led up to the cross.

His back is as a fresh-plowed field
Blood, like a river, flows
He stumbles up Mt. Calvary
His pain no respite knows.

I only watch as King of all
Is crowned with cruel thorn
I watch as Mary weeps below
And silently I mourn.

Why could I not stop them?
My Lord is going to die
How can His Father let this happen
And not intervene on high?

The Messiah, long-awaited
Has now reached His bitter end
And I can only watch them
Crucify my dearest Friend.

Suddenly, I hear a voice
Accusing from behind,
“A follower of Jesus, yes
I’m sure, I know his kind.”

“This man beside the fire
Followed Jesus everywhere.
He was a disciple.”
All begin to stare.

“No,” I shout,”it wasn’t me.
You do not understand.
I do not follow Jesus
Nor have I ever met the man.”

The accusations only grow
Twice more, I make my claim
“I do not know this Jesus.
I know nought but of His fame.”

The cock crows, slicing through the night
I flee, in fierce despair
A realization strikes me
I’m the one who put Him there.

He warned me this would happen
That I’d thrice deny Him- thrice!
But, I would not believe Him
Now I pay the awful price.

Oh, the depths of sorrow
The agononizing shame
Weeping, I confess I’ve caused
My Lord His death, His pain.

 

The bride eyes not her garment but her dear Bridegroom’s face; I will not gaze glory but on the King of grace;not at the crown He giveth but on His pierced hand;the Lamb is all the glory;in Emmanuel’s land.

He comes the Bridegroom promised long;go forth with joy to meet Him;and raise the new and  nuptial song;in cheerful strains to greet Him…

 Bride 

So many times I lie awake

Just listening to the night
Thinking of Your love for me
Dreaming of Your light.
On the day that You proposed
You started to kneel down
But, instead of pulling out a ring
You just dropped to the ground.
Stretching both arms wide
You let cruel soldiers nail their cross
To your bleeding hands and feet
While they only stared and mocked.
You climbed a hill called Calvary
To wear a crown of thorns
You hung so marred upon that tree
Enduring hateful scorns.
And though You never said a word
I heard Your heart ask mine
“Beloved, can I ask you?
Do I ever cross your mind?”
“Do you see how much I love you,
See the price I’ll pay for you?
And, will you trust me always
Knowing I will see you through?”
Speechless, I stared like a statue of stone
As Your precious blood flowed like a tide
And all You prayed was for me to say “Yes”
As the wicked crowd screamed, “Crucify!”
“Oh, Lord, I am worthless, unworthy of your grace.
I don’t deserve your love, I confess.
But, I believe,” I whispered, “that you’re suffering for me.
Yes, I know it now. Yes, Lord, yes!”
Tears streaming down my face
I watched You breathe Your final breath
But, I couldn’t understand.
How could all this end in death?
You were laid in a tomb and I thought all was lost
For three days, I wondered why
Then one bright morning, You rose from the grave
Coming from death unto life.
That day I experienced love in its power
Our hearts were forever entwined
And instead of me wearing my grand bridal gown
You glowed in robes of spotless white.
Now, You sit at the Father’s right hand
While I lie here awaiting the sound
Of the trumpets announcing my Bridegroom’s return
And our journey to heaven-Your home.
You’ll carry me over the threshold
‘Til I’m safe on the other side
I’ll look in those eyes filled with love and grace
And rejoice that I am Your Bride.

So many times I have wondered what it was like for the adulterous woman in John 8 to stand before the Savior. Knowing her guilt. Realizing her very life was in His hands. Pardon the double spaces as I retell the story in my own words.

 

Torn from a stolen embrace

Thrust into public shame

Cringing as countless faces

In disgust call out her name.

She watches, eyes filled with horror

As all but one pick up their stones

And falling on her knees, she pleads

For one last chance, just one.

Her voice is weak from weeping

Her guilt too much to bear

Her life hangs in the balance

And there’s not a soul to care.

All of a sudden, the crowd falls still

The empty-handed man stoops down

Everyone eye is on Him

As he writes on the sandy ground.

The angry men around her

Wait to see what this stranger will say

He doesn’t seem to notice

He just writes-and writes away.

When He is finished,He stands and says

“Whoever is sinless here

May be the first to cast a stone.”

Their faces turn white in fear.

She  stares in awestruck wonder as

Each accuser walks away

Dropping their stones by the wayside

Without a word to say.

Standing alone with this stranger,

She tries to avoid His eyes

And he simply asks,”Where did they go?

Has everyone bid their goodbyes?”

Shaking, she answers,’Yes, my lord.”

He smiles. “What are you still here for?

I do not condemn you.

Go your way and sin no more.”

His face looked so familiar

Had she seen Him before? But how?

Well, this man is no longer her stranger

She’d remember her Savior now.

 

 

This is a free verse poem I wrote several months ago. Feel free to critique! :) Always.

What are we here for?
This empty, fruitless existence?
Is this our purpose?
Are our supposedly transformed lives
Meant to be lived in utter solitude?

Yet here we are
Wallowing in complacency’s mire
Allowing the blaze of God’s holy fire to die
Until all we have left is ashes
Refusing to wake from a sleep so deep
We can’t even see we are slumbering
Does He desire this?
Is our blood-bought freedom
Just another set of chains?

He can work miracles
We’ve seen them
He can heal hurting hearts
Those hearts were ours

Yet here we are
Choosing comfortable over the cross
Settling for self-sufficiency
Risking nothing, taking no chances
Wondering how we have wandered this far
From the only home we’d ever had

Why? For what reward?
Acceptance? Independence?
Is it fear that drives us
To resist showing who we truly are?
That keeps us from becoming all we can be
From burning brightly in this vast darkness?
Fear of exclusion, of mockery
Of emotional and physical pain?
What do we gain from our cowardice?

Within our hearts
We all know Christ can change lives
That He can do unimaginable things
But have we ever understood
That His work begins with us?
We are His workmanship
We know what He longs for us to do
We know we should serve Him with all we are
But, something is stopping us

What are we waiting for?
Yet here we are
Still wallowing in the mire of complacency

Still following the road that leads to nowhere.

This is one of the Bible stories that has always touched me. In my own mind, this poem is how I think this dear woman felt. I hope it opens your eyes to the Savior as it did mine.

Jacob’s Well

Staring at the dusty ground
She staggers up the road
A water jug upon her head
She bears a heavy load.

Not just a heavy water pot
But a life spent in sin
And all the scars, the bitter wounds
The guilt she holds within.

As she slowly sets the old pot down
She sighs a weary sigh
Her burdened mind goes rushing back
To trials and times gone by.

The tears begin to sting her eyes
She brushes them away
And once again she lifts her jug
To travel on her way.

A short way off she sees the well
Her thirst has reached its height
She fights to speed her tired pace
And strains with all her might.

Exhausted, she ignores her pain
And pushes further forth
Until, at last, fatigued and sore,
She finishes her course.

Her legs are weak, her eyes still burn
The noonday sun shines hot
She leans her back against the wall
And limply lifts her pot.

Lowering her empty jug
Into the well’s cool depths
She’s startled by a voice beside
And jumps back several steps.

The gentle voice arrests her thoughts
And to her total shock
The man beside her is a Jew
She looks…and their eyes lock.

“Can you give me a drink?” he asks.
She can’t believe her ears
Never has a Jew asked her
A thing, in all her years.

“Do you, a Jew, not realize
Just who I am?” she asks.
“I am from Samaria,
The wrong side of the tracks.”

“You hate us, right? We never talk
And yet you ask of me?
I’m sorry, sir, but you must know
How odd this has to be.”

Kindly, softly, he replies,
“O woman, if you knew
Who I am, you would have asked me
To give you some water, too.”

“For the water I can give you
Is enduring and alive
And once you choose to drink it
Living water won’t run dry.”

A bright smile crosses his worn face
She longs to understand
“Sir, give me of this water
So I’ll never thirst again.”

“Go and bring to me your husband.”
She stands back and hangs her head
“I have none.” She admits. He says,
“I know that. Rightly said.”

“For you have had five husbands
And the man you’re with today
Is not your husband. You are right.
It is the truth you say.”

Impossible! How could he know?
She didn’t know his name!
Could this tired Jew beside her
And Messiah be the same?

“Sir, I know when the Messiah comes
That he will tell us all.”
His soothing voice steals all her breath
She slumps against the wall.

“I am He.” His calm reply
Sends tremors through her heart
She spins and races back to town
Her great news to impart.

“Quickly, quickly! Come and see.
By Jacob’s well. A Jew.
He told me all I’ve ever done.
I can’t believe He knew.”

“He says He’s the Messiah
Any reason He can’t be?
I know He’d make a change in you
He’s made a change in me.”

This poem was written just after I received word that a 22-year-old acquaintance of my family died after a tragic snowboarding accident. I truly believe these words came from God himself and I hope they bless your heart.

The Morning Will Come

 The room is quiet
Except for the constant beep
Of the machine.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Still living, still offering
A small speck of hope.
One half second of silence
Can make the difference.
This life to the next.
The room falls silent.
Not a soul moves.
Immediately, anxious sobs
Turn to soft, mournful weeping.
He has left this place
As quickly as he came.
He has gone home
To beauty indescribable
To the arms of his Savior.
Yes, we weep today
For memories we won’t make
For days we will spend without him
For moments we will miss his smiling face.
Yet, we cannot cry for his sake.
He is where we long to be.
He has been carried
In the loving arms of our Savior
Through the pearly gates
Into a home unimaginably bright
Breathtaking in its glorious beauty
Unmarred by human weakness.
When I close my eyes,
I can see him falling
At the feet of the precious Lord Jesus
Pressing his hands
Into Christ’s wounded side
Gazing in awestruck wonder
At His nail-scarred hands.
The very hands which have
Raised the dead to life
Given sight to the blind
Healed the diseased
Made the lame to walk
Offered sinners salvation
Offered HIM salvation.
No, my friends, we weep not for him.
His cloudless morning has come.
Yet, still we weep, for those of us that remain
For our night that has not yet turned to day.
This world of sin and death
Has not yet been destroyed.
But, in a soon coming day,
We will hear the trumpet sound
We will see the dawn break
Through clouds of sorrow.
The morning will come.
“Weeping endureth for a night
But….
Joy cometh in the morning.”(Psalm 30:5)