In Love – a Poem

In Love – a Poem

Happy Monday, all!

Please know that this story – this incredible love – is absolutely real, and extended to you. God loves you more than you can fathom.:)

How He can think

I’m

Lovely

Is a

Mystery to me.

That He would

Choose

This

Wobbly soul

To fight for

Him and

His

Seems like an act of…

What?

He knows I’m not

Enough.

He knows that I’m not

Strong.

He knows the

Winds

That pound this

Heart

Near steal its beat

Some days

And yet

He chooses me.

Seems like an act of…

What?

He feels each

Hurt

More deeply than

My own heart

Ever will.

He weeps

When

Self-love

Steals

My heart

And yet…

He wants me still.

Clothes catching on the

Brambles

That are tearing at His

Skin

He fights

For me

And takes me as

His own.

He stays.

This is an act of…

Love.

It leaves me

Breathless

Tearful and

Completely forever

In love.

The Pen in Your Hand – a Poem

The Pen in Your Hand – a Poem

I know… poetry ranked lowest on the poll I posted a couple of weeks ago (a huge thank you to everyone who answered that!). But my mind has felt like Jell-O recently, so I’m drawing from the reserves today.:) Hopefully my brains will be back soon, and I’ll have a little more to offer you guys!

Anyway…

This is a poem written by my fifteen-year-old self. It came into being one night when I was really struggling to accept what God was doing with a situation in my life. Now, in volatile 2020, it’s a blessing to come back to this poem again and be reminded of where God wants my heart to be.

This is one of the first freestyle poems I wrote… and though it’s not quite as fantastic as I used to think it was :), I hope it’s a blessing to you today.

I don’t understand.

I don’t.

There are times, Lord,

When I,

The pen in Your hand,

Long to

Spring from Your mighty

All-knowing

Grasp, with a cry of

“No, no!

That isn’t the way!

Here!

Let me show You how!”

But that

Is as silly as a ditch-digger

Grasping

The brush of a masterful artist.

A clock

Does no good without clockwork

And so

I do no good without You.

With no

Master I lie here, my ink pouring

Out

A miserable, meaningless

Blot.

But in Your loving hand

My life

Is a song – a beautiful witness

To You.

So here – take my tears, though many

There be

And do what you will with them.

And here –

Take my years, though few they may

Be

And use them to glorify

You.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash