Stripped of even food and unrecognizable, Naomi steps into Bethlehem and into my soul, a hero. A kindred spirit.
You are not what I make You I've had it reversed. It is a fearful thing to fall into the Hands of an unknown God even if He is a good One.
The pulling of a drain plug are these words on a page. Letting out just enough to keep my head above.
Let me not forget. Wherever I go. To take myself with me.
Seek not to be happy
Aim not for martyrdom.
Let each day simply be
Of something true.
It doesn’t go away
The ache of earthly life
It is a false religion
That tries to make it so.
I cannot hoard You
to hide myself.
You vacuum in me
Try as I might
I pull together a collection of all the best thoughts
And construct an image of You in my own mind,
but You don’t dwell in the forms I make.
You melt my illusions with Your Self-Existence.
When the bottom drops out
And the stomach is caught in the free fall,
Open the heart also and
Sing that new song.
Sing THIS one.
For you have wings.
salt on a bird’s tail
You can’t wrangle the truth. Put it down. That’s not how it goes. It has to breathe Itself into you – breath of Life.
Try to catch a Spirit and nail it to the wall, it’ll slip right through and you’ll miss it. Thank goodness of a Father for that.