God’s Choice
Jesus was hanging out upside down and wet
Long before the blood and sweat
Went splintering through eternity
In hopes that we would learn to see
The value of a person through this choice,
To start the savior’s life without a voice.
Category: christianity
Advent: Waiting for a Baby’s Crying
Advent: Waiting for a Baby’s Crying
Tree lights twinkle, sprinkle joy inside my eyes,
Awaiting Christmas, when their lights will be out shown.
The joy illuminated by what we’ve anticipated
In the Son who comes to love us as His own.
This specialized event of grace, renewing every year,
That allows us to displace the race for packages and hear
A baby’s cry that saves the world so we can celebrate
The birth of One who’s in the womb this advent while we wait.
Forever Sunday
Forever Sunday
Do you think God invented Monday?
The mental connotations of this one day
Are far from that of any given Sunday.
I propose that God invented Monday
Despite that fact it happens to be one day,
That is for me, a never-see-the-sun day.
I’ll work inside a dark room all of Monday
Feeling like the weekend’s short by one day
Wishing to myself that it was Sunday.
Regardless whether God invented Monday
I’ll keep working for the Lord until that one day
That I might live in His Forever Sunday.
Advent: Jesus Heist
Advent: Jesus Heist
Sometimes Christmas looks more like a Jesus Heist
Than a celebration of Christ.
A boy is busy wrapping arms around his presents
When he should embracing His presence,
Consuming Christ in preparation for His coming,
His entering the world and summing
Up God’s total revelation
For our endless contemplation
Of the anniversary of Christ’s birth,
Of God made man on Earth
So that we might have light again,
But instead we check off lists and then
Never have a chance to anticipate
The savior we wish to celebrate.
Christmas arrives and we give each other gifts
Never giving ourselves lifts
In our own spirituality,
Stuck in secular commonality
That makes us wonder if a present pleases,
While we never gave a thing to Jesus.
We Don’t Grill Babies
We Don’t Grill Babies
After stuffed animals and baby dolls were shown,
As exhibitions of my son’s playing.
It’s likely my voice contained a confused tone
At the wonder of what I was saying.
My son was grilling dinner on the ottoman, it
Took me a moment but I thought a minute
And after rationalizing “yeses”, “Nos” and “Maybes”,
I came up with, “we don’t grill babies.
You can grill animals ‘till your heart’s content
But a baby who does not consent
Cannot be cast on the flames of a grill.
To be disposed of at your will.
In fact, a baby who does consent cannot be killed
Simply because the two of you willed
It to be so. Human life contains value.
So grill a tasty animal pal you’d
Like to eat instead
Of pretending the babies are dead.”
My wife gave me a smirkey smile from the other chair,
Loving me and the words I chose to share
With our three year-old who was grilling
Babies that no one should be killing.
sidetracked
sidetracked
The park was our destination
But my son’s procrastination
Was fueled by acorn shell designs
And spelling STOP signs.
Things that were understood
To be not as good
As the slide
he would ride.
I guess I should slow down and learn
The path his walking weaves.
It’s time for me to take a turn
Enjoying crunchy leaves.
What’s the point of time to spare
If I hurry towards the end,
Not realizing my son’s not there
‘cause he had time to spend.
Thank God
Thank God
I’m thankful that I have a lover above me,
Three persons that love me,
Take care of me, and provide
All the things I’ve tried
To do on my own
When I haven’t known
Or realized He’s tried
To ease my pain and provide
Everything and love me
While walking with me and above me.
Sheep Surgery
Sheep Surgery
I saw a sheep that needed sewing.
So he’d withstand the hugging, beating, throwing
And other things that one speaks of
When referencing a child’s love.
I decided I could sew well enough
So I found my Father’s sewing stuff
And grabbed a needle and some thread,
Came up stairs and brought back the dead.
Spring November
Spring November
How do you grace me
so incredibly
when all I have for you
are sins I can’t give up yet.
I’m set in my ways
which sometimes sway
towards and away
Your will for today.
but in this November Spring
you bring rebirth
worth more than that which is lying,
laying, playing on the ground in the wind.
I’ve found I begin
to be created anew
my old leaves crumble
and mumble
incoherently
till I can’t see
what they meant to me
because I am created in you
anew,
through grace which you relay
on a Spring November day.
New Shoes
New Shoes
After taking off my perfectly fitting skin
I get the courage to begin
Trying on new leather
And whether
I like it or not
My old shoes are shot
With stigmatic flesh wounds on the bottom,
Two years after I got ‘em.
It’s time for me to replace
The open space
With newer shoes
That are whole,
With a newly created sole.
BonjourPoetry 