Prayer in temptation

Make no provision,
Not one small glance;
Shut the door fast
So there’s not a chance
Of compromise,
Of one “small” sin
Or diversions that
Let immoderation in.

It will not do then
To just ignore
The sin that beats
Down on my heart’s door.
Sin must be dealt with,
Ruthlessly killed
Utterly abandoned—
Oh, grant me the will!

The will and power
To love Your ways,
Hate what You hate
And run to obey.
You are a refuge,
Immovable, strong.
Fountain of pleasures,
Help me desire and long…

For You alone.

This World is not Conclusion.

This poem may make my Top 10. Amazing truths. Beautiful language. Emily Dickinson.

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond—
Invisible, as Music—
But positive, as Sound—
It beckons, and it baffles—
Philosophy—don't know—
And through a Riddle, at the last—
Sagacity, must go—
To guess it, puzzles scholars—
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown—
Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies—
Blushes, if any see—
Plucks at a twig of Evidence—
And asks a Vane, the way—
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit—
Strong Hallelujahs roll—
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul.

Forgiven

(Written on January 25, 2007, after a season of sin that God mercifully redeemed me from!)

I have to believe You are sovereign over sin,
Lord of all of me: not just my strengths
But also my inherent weaknesses within.

For if what I’ve done and the woman I’ve lately become
Is beyond Your will, Your control—
I am lost, ruined, completely undone.

But if You’ve ordained every one of my days
And known my beginning to my end,
If you’ve planned a way for my escape…

Then I am loved past all comprehending,
Known only by knowing You, my Lord,
My Savior full of grace, grace unending!

Grace unheard of, love unmatched, mercy unrestrained:
Who am I? Unworthy, senseless beast
To look Love in the face and turn away!

Oh, what a God You are, to pull me from the pit
With a strong arm; wash me clean, clothe me,
And not just forgive my sin, but forget!

Beautiful

Her face was weathered,
Wrinkled, altogether
older now.
Facials and lotions,
Expensive beauty potions—
She had turned them in,
For in the end
When life was done,
She wanted her heart
To be the most beautiful part
Of her.
Sure, she missed that second glance—
That look of romance
from the men—
As in her younger days,
When beauty’s ways
Were upon her.
But now people stared long and hard…
At her heart,
Radiant on her face.
Plastic beauties who saw her walk by,
Envied her, the life in her eyes,
Which sparkled, undaunted by aging and time;
And almost mesmerized,
They asked her
The reason for her smile.
And she would—smile,
And then tell them…
(Oh, she told them) of the One
Who made her beautiful.

"Always be prepared to give an answer for the hope that lies within you..." (But are we giving them a reason to ask??)