It will never be
the same
after pain.
How will we bend?
Loss and
unfulfilled hope
leave craters --
sink holes --
and acquaint us
with shadows.
Hunger drives
a woman and her family
far from home.
Death strikes
and Naomi,
embittered,
turns homeward,
determined to
need no one
ever again.
With stalwart devotion,
wrapped in grief
of her own,
Ruth
commits herself to
The Embittered One,
a cushion
for pain shared.
Inescapable wounds
can bind us together
or divide us;
trap us in an endless loop
or free us to face
the fragmented
mirror;
to read the scars
like Braille,
telling the story
of God's heart,
broken for us.
Fallen creatures
are prickly
as porcupines,
the wounded often lash out
in terror,
slashing the very hand
reached down
in kindness.
We cannot escape
this world unscathed.
What story
will our scars tell?
Ruth 1:1-5
The spit-upon
are nameless
shadow puppets
hugging the wall.
They lurk at the edges
of our vision,
flickering dimly.
Yet the Rabbi
made eye contact
and spoke
life in metaphors
confusing
and inexplicable.
"Identify yourself"
is the moment of truth.
She does not flinch
but names herself
as fallen.
He opens the door
to her understanding
by reading her
brokenness,
then stuns her further
by offering His hand
and
a future.
The spit-upon
became the daughter
of the King -
head held high
she rejoiced
and called all
to meet the One
who renamed her,
Beloved.
Lying ideas circulate
and breed
more lies.
Couched in psycho-jargon
and hissed
in hungry ears
ideas shape us
and
misshape us.
Self-serving
inflates egos
and distorts reality.
God's mercy overflows,
transforming our
crooked souls.
He blesses us with gifts -
not to adorn our mantels
with shining trophies -
but to equip us
for service.
Lay down your rights.
Surrender
to Him who lavished
mercy on you.
Become a channel
through which mercy flows,
your specialness
a conduit.
So open up.
Open up.
Let it go.
Feel His pleasure as you
give it up.
Give it up.
Rom. 12:1-8
Measured by mirrors,
media and
multiple fears,
my value is
pin-prick small.
Sized up to
the immensity of
spinning galaxies,
I am a grain
of sand.
My spot in time
is a mere
millisecond,
faster than a blink.
Yet You crafted me carefully
and endowed
me with eternal
significance.
You take my breath away,
Majestic God!
How can I wrap
my limited mind
around this paradox?
Made in Your image
to reflect Your loveliness
to all,
to see Your loveliness
in every one.
Seen as accidental products
of evolution,
no lives truly matter.
Survival of the fittest
reduces every interaction
to a power struggle;
the hero is the last one
standing
though the streets
run with blood.
Left without a maker,
I will make myself
and inherit arrogance.
When plans shatter,
I inherit self-loathing.
Both twist my soul
and pervert
my reflection.
I am more than my successes
or failures.
God, give me Your glasses
through which to see
this truth.
Help me shed the lies
and shiver,
speechless
in a shower of
Your unconditional love
daily.
(Ps. 8 and Isa. 14)
What was said
about Him
pointed forward.
Jesus is the bulls-eye
that the arrows
of Law, prophets
and psalms
all aimed for.
Fulfillment in the lines
and between the lines
is in Him.
Text and subtext.
At the start
our spirits fractured
and the rescue mission
was born.
"Your descendants will
be blessed."
But how long, O Lord?
In exile the people moaned,
awaiting the promises'
fulfillment.
Where is this
promised King?
The line from David
is stripped,
but intact -
it quavers
and survives
on an allowance.
God had spoken
through the prophets:
the awaited One
will be a Prophet-King,
out-wisdom Solomon,
restore temples to places
of meeting between God
and man,
and trust in God
even in the inky darkness
that threatens
to tear Him asunder.
See how Jesus is the One?
He kneels and draws in sand,
confounding the sages,
cleanses His Father's house
and, when sweat turns to blood,
cries out, "Thy Will be done."
Our hearts yearn to meet
this promised One.
See how He comes.
Never too insignificant
to be of use
to God.
Never too flawed
or damaged.
Kingdom efficiency.
Willingness
and faithfulness
the only price of admission.
Choosing trust over anger
when life
wrings you out
is one choice.
Blessing those
who spit upon you
and force you
to grovel
is an option.
Struggling against
strangeness
and being an alien
in a foreign land
with persistence
can bring fruit.
Trust your place.
Consecration
can do wonders
beyond
money,
power,
or influence.
Power
perfected
in weak-
ness.
