If I could...

If I could do anything
I'd grow wings
that transform into healing hands
I'd circle the globe, landing softly
touch the forehead of a sick child
brush a tumor away to give life
shoo away radiation that kills
erase hate like a spelling mishap
toss the letters like an alley dice game
scrambled into heat for those left out in the cold
Feathers that tickle giggles from the elderly
and stir up wisdom in the young
Wings that stretch to scoop in the lonely
until they find each other and belong
Wingtips that curve perfectly under chins
lifting heads to see my flight pattern in the sky
two white words scribbled in the blue "You're awesome."
Then I'd make my wings contagious
hand them out like loaves and fish
so we could all flock together
to the cross and empty tomb
and make our own firework party in the sky
others below would look up with smiles that ache
we'd swoop down to hand them their wings
watch their bruises and scars dance
from their bodies and hearts
up to their wings to make bold patterns
that tell a flickering story
as we flit about
no more fits
just flits
of You.

“I don't want to live in the kind of world where we don't look out for each other. Not just the people that are close to us, but anybody who needs a helping hand. I cant change the way anybody else thinks, or what they choose to do, but I can do my bit.” 
― Charles de Lint

But you are the ones chosen by God, chosen for the high calling of priestly work, chosen to be a holy people, God’s instruments to do his work and speak out for him, to tell others of the night-and-day difference he made for you—from nothing to something, from rejected to accepted.

1 Peter 2:9-10

Mind the Tide

Quiet summer home smile
blizzards rage in a roofless mind
Bouncing echo Tuesdays into Mondays
Held breath in the present
Gas chamber clouded with fears
Tuckered heart longing for green to grasp
fresh air to inhale
keep up the sleepy dance
frozen river imagination
trusting in the unseen underflow
mother pats on the back
giving up on the front lines
the flag waves bold crimson lies
hiding white on the other side
revealed when winds shift wild
desperate pleas to the gusts
lost in her whispered screams
arms waving for rescue
but they see glee, a greeting
and blow past
she whistles into a crashing wave
conducting her orchestra in a straight jacket
absent violins reverb behind her eyes
flickering invisible
blinding light
blinding dark
holding You
in both.

• "Thoughts are like an open ocean, they can either move you forward within its waves, or sink you under deep into its abyss."Anthony Liccione

  
  

  • "How long must I wrestle with my thoughts?Look on me & answer, Lord. Give light to my eyes...I trust in your unfailing love."Psalm 13:2-5 (msg)

    
    

  "You call me out upon the waters. The great unknown where feet may fail. And there I find You in the mystery. In oceans deep. My faith will stand." Oceans, HIllsong united

Name Calling

Don’t Call Me a Christian Trailer from Granger Community Church on Vimeo.

Listen, listen,

Don’t call me a Christian.

All we hear in that word is division.

So heads can be held… a little higher.

Us vs. them, we haw an we hem,

We judge and condemn

And tie our Sunday ties…. a little tighter.

Your label is choking me, Provoking me

You’ve got to be joking me

If you think that’s all I am.

Evangelistics tallied up in statistics

Analytical, hypocritical, too political,

And you think this is my scam.

Like I see you as a project,

SO I can inspect, dissect, and inject,

My smug truth into your reality,

That I’m some teacher’s pet, hoping to get,

Some extra credit

If I can just make you- like me.

You think it’s all just one day,

Go on Sunday, back to Monday

With a checkmark and a grade.

Regulations set, Obligations met,

So we have accusations and threats,

From this monster in the shade.

But let me tell you about the Son.

How it all began with a plan, one man

The root word of this label.

This privilege turned insult

Who made it all difficult

When he said All can come to the table.

That one word ALL, the proud fall,

Hit face first the wailing wall

That looks a lot like a mirror,

How’d we get so confused, history misused,

His name abused

His image blurred as we claim it’s clearer.

The twisting of His grand design,

As we stand in line with our pickets signs.

Red-faced in our anger not our shame.

What if we could erase, retrace, embrace

In one unified about-face

To answer anew “What’s in this name?”

So yes, I confess, I’m a broken mess,

A work in progress, done trying to impress,  

Just trying my best,

To… rearrange.

So, don’t call me a Christian,

Just let me shut up and listen,

To you for a change.

‘cause all this weapon-hauling, is just shame-stalling,

No more name-calling

Just His name

with a calling

to love.

“I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” 
― Mahatma Gandhi

"God knew what he was doing from the very beginning. He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love him along the same lines as the life of his Son. The Son stands first in the line of humanity he restored. We see the original and intended shape of our lives there in him. After God made that decision of what his children should be like, he followed it up by calling people by name. After he called them by name, he set them on a solid basis with himself. And then, after getting them established, he stayed with them to the end, gloriously completing what he had begun." 

Romans 8:29-30