God is Bigger Than Your Shit

i was
born
in the warmest month
of the coldest place
winter in my marrow
sun on my skin
i was
planted
in red clay
forged
in the heat
of midwest summers
the buzz of cicada
the glow of firefly
blue light bottled
and studied
i was
tended
in a greenhouse
of stained glass
with no roof
escaping the elements
beneath the bindings
of books
watered
by words
and
mulched
with pages
tutored
by Lewis
Tolkien
Dahl
Silverstein
Bloom
Cleary
Alexander
Alcott
Burnett
Sewell
Carroll
Wilde
Saint-Exupery
so many voices
i was
pruned
by siblings
snapping branches
ruthlessly loving
brutal storms
making us dig deep
entwining limbs
mingled roots
in common soil
i am
cold fire
exposed shelter
silent voices
a rival comrade
chasing the sun
longing for summer
to bloom within

melancholy
is a bad word
must be shaved from one’s soul
like the ragged bits of pencil that keep the lead from working.

crazy
is a bad word
must be shaved from one’s life
like the straggling bits of hair that keep the face from being seen.

but my frame
was steeped in a melancholy
amniotic tea
bitter
and left too long
and crazy
was the air that filled my lungs
at my first wail

bad
hurtful
counterproductive
but if i shave them away what is left?
where am i?
will i be nothing more
than a pile of flakes
upon the floor?

oh
(people will say)
somebody
clean that up, please.

They say the heart is wicked and
they say it can’t be trusted.
They say it is a foolish thing
that needs to be adjusted.

They say the heart is reckless and
they say it runs the soul.
They say to keep a tight reign on
or sense it will cajole.

They say the heart is traitorous;
it only wants the wrong.
All weakness lies within its walls
where mad desires throng.

They say the heart has little truth
to know the wrong from right;
for all subversive lusts will seek
and, violent, will fight.

But all I know is that an ache
lies where my heart should be.
More like a dying fish it gasps
than fierce monstrosity.

I bid it rise and find the will
to walk this narrow way,
so–trembling–it summons strength
and staggers one more day.

Where is the rebel outlaw, then?
Where is the fearsome foe?
Oh how I wish there was some spark
to make the engine go.

No conflagration billows up
and burns within my chest;
the fire in that cold space is
a dying coal at best.

Yet stumbling I’ll walk this path
and often will I crawl
Until the coal burns out at last
and only ashes fall.

In life’s short book
I early learned
that love means fear and rage;

My tender eyes
read sorrow there
on every written page.

And so I locked
my heart up tight
and kept the thing away;

I vowed I’d never
be exposed
and held all love at bay.

My heart’s own book,
a tale of fear
where love meant dread and pain;

I couldn’t see
it was a lie
I read it all the same.

And then, upon the
darkest page
that simply said “The End”

I felt a hand
and heard a voice
that said “begin again.”

“Tear out the page,
rewrite the tale
and I will show you then;

My perfect love
casts out all fear
if you will share your pen.”

The book I wrote
was all I knew
and it was sad and grim;

Yet how to trust
to tear it up
and go ahead with Him?

I gripped the pen
still tighter–pushed
the gentle hand away.

“I will rewrite,
I know I can!
and better things I’ll say!”

Yet once again
the score was dark
and hopeless was the rhyme;

No matter how
I tried to change
no happy end was mine.

Despairing then
I shut the book
and cried in broken need

“I cannot make
the words make sense–
this tale no one will read!”

Again the voice
and gentle hand
then lifted up my head

“We’ll write anew–
I promise you–
give me your hand instead.”

And as I put
my hand in His
the words fell into place;

the song was sweet,
the story true
and overwhelmed by grace.

No mystery
was written there
save that of His design–

that He takes His
unending love
and somehow makes it mine.

I stand once more
an open book,
and hope that all will see;

His tale upon
these pages is
romance, eternally.

Upon my head
there is a weight
it pierces, pressing low;
to stand at all is difficult
as winds of sorrow blow.

Inside my head
the voices taunt
“you are a worm, not man!”
They chant, accuse,
berate, abuse,
and keep me feeling damned.

I know this weight
that stabs my brain
is twisted and untrue,
yet Grace is poured
and drink it in
is all that I must do.

I am an heir
along with Christ
my punishment He bore.
In sufferings
I’ll find His peace
and love Him all the more.

A crown of thorns
is how it feels
and difficult to bear;
yet one day I
will stand with Him

and crown of joy I’ll wear.

I want to walk the dusty road
with long-fought memory;
both pain and pleasure bending low
to make their peace with me.
I want to shake the hand of pain
declare instead a truce
abandon what was lost in shame
press forward into Truth.
For Truth is deeper than I knew
and Love has many names
Life can be wrapped in beauty while
still mixed with blood and pain.
What’s gone remains as close as thought
and never truly dies
the sweet and bitter mingle breath
with every aching sigh.
At table now with memory
I sit, and drink a toast
and arm in arm,
I with myself,
sing canticles
to ghosts.

My last post about Lazarus reminded me of this poem I wrote several years ago…a good time to revisit these thoughts…may it bless the reader.

“Wind the gravecloths, bind them fast

If you need more, recall your past.

There’s lots of ways that you can die

Give up, lay down, refuse to try.

Here, pass the cloth, I’ll help you out

I’ll make the knots secure and stout.

Around the head, the eyes, the ears

I’ll block out all except your fears

Come on with me, I’ll show you where

your life can end without a care.

No need to fight, a few steps more

I can already see the door.

Too bad He did not come in haste

He must think you’re an awful waste.

He isn’t coming, He’s done with you

Here is the entrance, just step through…

Lay on the slab, now fold your hands

It’s dark, I know, but that’s the plan.

You aren’t cut out for life, it’s true

It’s simply much too hard for you…”

And on, and on, and on, and on…

until my strength was almost gone

the lies came fast with urgent glee

and I….I cried….and I agreed.

Entombed, I lay all on my own

Against the entrance rolled a stone.

The time had passed, He had not come

Like Lazarus, my life was done.

Then cutting through my thick despair

a Voice I love beyond compare

echoed within the walls around

Oh, how my heart leapt at the sound!

Come out, come out,

I am not done

Unwind the bindings,

See the sun!

Come out to Me,

I love you, friend,

You’re not forgotten

It’s not the end;

The days feel like eternity,

I know, dear one, but trust in Me.

My heart is grieved, I also cry,

I do not sleep, I cannot lie

I have a plan, I’m never late,

although sometimes you’ll have to wait,

for I will make My glory known

’til strongholds lie all overthrown!”

And I came out, into the Light

the rags of death still holding tight

Until He spoke to friends I know

“Unbind the cloths, and let her go”

And now I stand as one set free–

He spoke the words of life to me.

Do you lie wrapped in graveclothes too?

He’s at the door, He weeps for you.

Wait on the Lord, He’s on His way,

Hold on, hang tight, press in and pray;

He hears your every need and care

He knows what’s best, and He’ll be there.

Pour it out
in silver coin
for threshing floor and oxen;
The sacrifice
must come at price
for sin to be forgotten.
What cost it him–
the shepherd boy
who had become the king?
He blessed the loss
and would not burn
from that which cost him nothing.

Pour it out,
the costly oil
from broken alabaster;
anoint the Head
prepare for death
the body of the Master.
What cost it her
to freely give
what jealous souls would keep?
She blessed its loss
and spared no love
in tears upon His feet.

He poured it out,
His blood and life
for your soul and for mine.
Wrong made right
to reunite
the mortal with divine.
What cost it Him–
the Lord of Lords
upon that dreadful hill?
He blessed the loss
upon the cross
where time itself stood still.

Once and for all–
His Spirit set
on future joy and union–
Exploding forth
from hell and grave
to glorious reunion!

So pour it out
in service bold
as drink upon the ground;
your life’s the cost
and must be lost
before it can be found.
What cost it you–
a vapor’s breath–
to surrender Him your all?
You’ll bless the loss
and count it dross
at His great trumpet-call.

2 Samuel 24:18-25
Luke 7:36-38
Mark 14:3-9
Hebrews 10:1-4
Mark 8:34-38
1 Corinthians 15:50-58

My soul a crumpled, heavy thing,
it sprawled upon the ground
and wallowed in the muck and mire;
it reveled in the sound
of carnal cries and fleshly lies
upon a feast it gorged
of nothing high it could abide
and substance it abhorred.
I never thought it possible
that such a thing could fly
a lump of clay,
a stodgy clod
was never meant for sky
But by Your hand You lifted me
and with Your voice awoke
a yearning for a brighter blue
beyond a heavy yoke.
My eyes upon the earth were cast
and never sought to win
the brightness of a higher view
until You raised my chin;
Your yoke is but a cross-stick
and my soul is now a kite
uncrumpled
smoothed
all filth removed
and dressed in shades of white.
Upon the Spirit’s steady draft
I’m carried through the gales
and how the view is larger now
that You’ve removed my scales.
My tether is an Anchor
so I cannot come unwound
until the day I sail away
earth-free
and heaven-bound.

Ephesians 2:1-10

Come like a hurricane
come sweep me clean 

Come like a brush fire
make me grow green 

Shake like an earthquake
come shatter these lies 

Be a tsunami
to my stubborn pride

Shatter this vessel
with Your mighty wind 

Then,
be the Healer

and build me again.

Hebrews 12:25-29