There seems to be a fog over the eyes of my heart
so that I can't see where You're leading me these days
as You navigate me through this land of new beginnings.
Could it be that this fog is
a sign of Your love...
the proof of Your grace?
Because I must hold Your hand,
being in this place.
I can barely see the next step...
You pull me tighter into Your embrace.
Where I am safe and sound
You whisper words of trust...
This breaks the silence now.
Even though I'm afraid,
Your request my fear.
The scars on Your hands show
what You did to bring me near.
So, here in this fog...
There's a new Son rising.
You're breaking the dawn on the horizon
of my heart.
And soon...
the fog...
will melt away.
I'll still be here,
Resting in Your embrace.
By Your grace...trusting You forever.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Monday, September 9, 2013
Dust.
"As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear Him; for He knows how we are formed, He remembers that we are dust." Psalm 103:13-14
Dust.
A pile of dust in middle of the floor.
Neat and concise, but not alive.
The slightest swift motion could send it flying everywhere.
Without the slightest chance that it would be seen again.
But not with You.
And You're walking in the door.
Picking up the dust,
cradling it gently in Your hands,
the scars there show where the nails have been.
You breathe and speak at the same time...
"Dust!",You say, "Come alive!"
Just as natural as the sun rising...
that dust comes to life.
Because not even dust can disobey the King as He speaks with such bold authority.
As in the days of Ezekiel,
bones and tendons join out of dust.
Skin covers these and a heart beats, steady and strong.
Just like the One who made it.
And so, we live our lives out here...
just as dust--fragile, but alive.
Dust that is loved,
dust that is prayed for all the time by Jesus,
dust that belongs to the King.
If you watch His eyes, as He looks at us,
as He speaks,
as He works,
You'll see the twinkle there.
Could it be that the King is waiting for the day
that ashes to ashes...
dust to dust...
We'll return to Him again.
And all things will be redeemed.
Dust.
A pile of dust in middle of the floor.
Neat and concise, but not alive.
The slightest swift motion could send it flying everywhere.
Without the slightest chance that it would be seen again.
But not with You.
And You're walking in the door.
Picking up the dust,
cradling it gently in Your hands,
the scars there show where the nails have been.
You breathe and speak at the same time...
"Dust!",You say, "Come alive!"
Just as natural as the sun rising...
that dust comes to life.
Because not even dust can disobey the King as He speaks with such bold authority.
As in the days of Ezekiel,
bones and tendons join out of dust.
Skin covers these and a heart beats, steady and strong.
Just like the One who made it.
And so, we live our lives out here...
just as dust--fragile, but alive.
Dust that is loved,
dust that is prayed for all the time by Jesus,
dust that belongs to the King.
If you watch His eyes, as He looks at us,
as He speaks,
as He works,
You'll see the twinkle there.
Could it be that the King is waiting for the day
that ashes to ashes...
dust to dust...
We'll return to Him again.
And all things will be redeemed.
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