Angel Wings

Oh that some angel would lift me on mighty wings
To rise above the troubles of these streets
To fly with beating heart in clouds and breeze
Up in the holy silence above God's world.
And perhaps indeed some angel will carry me
When my days down here are done
Will bear me up on eagle's wings,
And set me down beyond the sun.

© someburningthoughts.com, 2015

 

Rainstorm

The holy hush of a rainy day
Suddenly the house becomes a cave
And from the front porch shelter those who may
Watch lightning and the thunder play
Hear branches creak and tree tops sway
Feel rain drops fly in a misty spray
And raise a hand to God in praise.

© someburningthoughts.com, 2015

Thought -- The Old Flesh Within This New Creature

Maybe I can extend claws six inches long
From under my fingernails
Maybe I do have teeth like knives
Sharpened on hot iron files
I thought I did not
But turns out I do...
Behind my smile and helping hand
Lurks a beast who can cruelly bite
And every morning I must thrust a silver stake into his heart again
And every evening I must kneel and beg for absolution
But one day--one day when I fly away
I'll leave his carcass far behind.

Poem: A Testimony

Selfish like a vampire I sucked blood from the world
Until it lay around me like a corpse--
Trees lost their color, sky went grey
People wandered past me like meat in skin
And even the wildest activities felt lifeless then.

Until my Jesus came and stretched his brown arms out
And His blood pumped like sap into the trees
And far into the sky, and all through me
Bright blue and vivid green filled everything--
People wander past me, all loved somehow
And even the smallest acts have so much meaning now.

Poem: Fireflies

Photograph by Tsuneaki Hiramatsu through repeated eight minute exposures at night

Some moments the Spirit glows
And I light up like Christ
My face flashing with his presence
And children gather in wonder

Some moments I go dark
Listening to too many lies
I sink under sadness for my sins
In the night I forget his forgiveness

Such short hours we flit above the grass
There is only this night to shine
So let us be the brightest of your fireflies
Until morning when the sun will rise.

Breathing

It's a funny thing, breathing. 


The other night I was sitting on the sofa, and I could hear Amber breathing as she sat beside me, reading a book. I realized I was breathing, too.  Our dog was laying beside us, and she was breathing heavily too because she was deep in sleep. We were all sitting there, inhaling the invisible air around us, and exhaling it back out.

It's one of those thousand and one things we stop noticing. Our focus narrows onto the smallest tasks in front of us: paying a bill, answering a text message, watching a TV show. 

Meanwhile we're sitting on a giant twirling ball, rotating silently through space, with just a thin garment of air covering the surface of our planet. And we breathe that gas in, and out, that perfect balance of oxygen and nitrogen.  Decade after decade our lungs open and close like bellows, delicately collecting the invisible gas around us that we depend on moment by moment to stay conscious, to keep our eyes open, to move our bodies.

'For in him we live and move and have our being.' As some of your own poets have said, 'We are his offspring.'
                              -Paul of Tarsus, Acts 17:28

No Mind Has Imagined

"There never was any world but mine," said the Witch.

... Puddleglum was fighting hard...."We'll never see it again, I shouldn't wonder. You may have blotted it out and turned it dark like this, for all I know. Nothing more likely. But I know I was there once. I've seen the sky full of stars. I've seen the sun coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the mountains at night. And I've seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn't look at him for brightness."
               -The Silver Chair, C.S. Lewis

Christians have had those moments when we knew the warmth and incredible glory of the Son of God shining on us.  But for now we still live in Plato's Cave, a world full of shadows.

In a cold, dank, cave it is sometimes easy to wonder if we've dreamed up this whole belief we have in the resurrection of the dead, in God, in all things made right and Zion, the size of Brazil, coming down one day like a bride to earth where God will make his home with humans in brightness and joy. 

But on a morning like this morning, with the tender chill of spring, and the squawking and chirping of birds, and new flowers everywhere, it is a just a little easier.

That is what the Scriptures mean when they say, "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him."                                                                     -1 Corinthians 2:9