Last week, Lauren's preschool teacher asked her to draw or write what she was thankful for . . .
I see this and smile. So much controversy surrounds Your name. I hear it so often. The same name that people use in prayer they use to swear in traffic.
"She will bear a Son, and you shall call His name Jesus [the Greek form of the Hebrew Joshua, which means Savior], for He will save His people from their sins [that is, prevent them from failing and missing the true end and scope of life, which is God]."
Matthew 1:21 (Amplified Bible)
Seeing Your name in my daughter's handwriting collided with a writing assignment at work. As we walk from Thanksgiving into the Christmas season, once again, You inspire me to inspire others . . . (Bless DC as he performs this a couple days before Your birthday.)
Christmas time takes the stage, and I’m already feeling caged
like a Where’s Waldo page
buried up to my rib cage in a pile of tinsel.
Wading through paper snowflakes, bad fruitcakes, cookie bakes,
ornaments, lights, there are no silent nights,
in these line-waiting, gold-plating, reindeer-inflating days of
commercialism at it’s best.
People’s names on a list, we wish we won’t miss
The sale item that will buy their happiness.
Jingle bells and holly, plastics Santas who look jolly,
we all dance in the folly, but who’s holding the strings?
Our kids whining, pining for more shiny new things?
Carols blare, angels wings in the air, we sing and we stare
and try to smile at a distant story.
Shepherds in bathrobes, mangers trapped in snowglobes,
While styrofoam blizzards are blockin’ our view.
We ride in the machine, but do we know what it means?
Or are nativity scenes just another pretty picture for our Christmas cards?
More toys equal joys, but they’re just the decoys,
‘cuz there’s a tiny baby boy in the middle of our mess.
Oh, you’ve heard it all before, the world cried out for more,
So come let us adore a cute little baby
But maybe just maybe you didn’t get it.
‘Cuz see that’s just the opening credits . . .
Let me tell you about who my boy became
A man framed, He took my shame, this ain’t no child’s game.
Those little cherub fingers grew up to heal, to feel, to reveal
I know it seems surreal
But I’m telling you our little boy
Those baby feet later hit the streets in the heat of
Back when they came in droves, ate five loaves
And just . . . listened.
They say he was a crazy man, travelin’ across the land,
The sinner’s friend, fisher of men,
Mind-blowing, seed-sowing, all-knowing
Radical on the move.
Syllables of parables opened up like marigolds
Where a mustard seed is all you need
Blessed are the meek, turn the other cheek,
The last shall be first when they inherit the earth
In his lectures from the hillsides.
But he wasn’t just a nice guy.
His in your face questions leave stones unthrown
Sons can come home, and sheep are allowed to have minds of their own.
His love for humanity, borderline insanity.
When they spit in his face, but this act of grace
wasn’t just a “way back when”,
see ya later friend, where you can say your amen and walk away again.
Cuz “O little town”, was just the countdown
To his upside down, lost and found
Life he gave for me
So look a little closer at the little baby scene
See if you can’t see what I mean
It’s the evolution of a revolution
The gift of a hope solution
At least it is for me.
So let me ask . . . do you see what I see?
Saturday, November 17, 2007
"Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks."
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
visiting the oxymoron this week
I've lived in the middle
of letting go and helping out
seeking the right moment to let go of the bicycle
empowering a beautiful replacement
blinded a bit to her own potential
she holds a much-deserved gift
but still wonders if she's worthy
You and I both know she is
I try to stand back
like the father of the bride
it's comedy and tragedy
a longing pride
a grieving joy
in a whirlwind dance of past and future
And I love them all almost as much as You do. . .
a simple prayer tonight
lead them safely to the hope beyond tragedy
the beauty beyond costume
and something even better than a cast party
something truly worth celebrating
Your love and mine.
For me, parting is such sweet sorrow
But You will walk with them into tomorrow . . .
"What we've learned is this: God does not respond to what we do; we respond to what God does. We've finally figured it out. Our lives get in step with God and all others by letting him set the pace, not by proudly or anxiously trying to run the parade." Romans 3:27
Monday, November 12, 2007
if you announce it, they will come
now we just have to write it . . .
so this week
the team will meet to plot, plan, debate, agree
and dance to Your story to the tune of Beatles music
when the meetings end
and it's just You, me, and the laptop
wipe away the sticky filmy me on Your glass
so I can clearly see Your will
I pray the fingers dance like marionettes on the keyboard
playfully free with You holding the strings
I just want to be Your paintbrush
Your pen, Your epic narrating voice
so they can come expecting
and leave with hope in their pockets
the hope that can only come from
"The right words will be there. The Holy Spirit will give you the right words when the time comes." Luke 12: 12 (Msg)