Liturgy of the Present

I bring myself to you, oh Father,

In whom all my thoughts, dreams, and struggles are held.

You alone know every bit of my heart. 

Move me in a quiet surrender toward your work.

As I consider paths which lie before me,

Possibilities and unknowns,

Let not my mind dwell long on the things of tomorrow.

Instead, pull me gently back to the present.

Oh Lord, You have blessed me with the gifts to imagine, hope, and plan.

Even as I do so, let me not sour these good gifts with misuse.

Instead, gently remind me of my finitude.

As I walk through life,

Living in the realities of past hopes and prayers,

Let me not ignore these good gifts and testaments to your continued faithfulness.

Instead, pull me back to the present.

Though I may long for the things yet to come,

Reconcile my heart to the beauty of the present. 

Guide my heart to faithfulness and joy in the passing of these moments,

Even as I trust you are good and will give me my heart’s desires.

Give me the strength to journey onward,

With the wisdom and grace to steward 

This precious, fleeting moment of the present.

The War Inside

We’ve all fought wars inside our heart

Unsure of what to do or where to start

We’ve all fought wars and deeply lost

Losing things of important cost 

The grades we’ve failed, the nights we’ve wept,

The promises we swore but never kept.

Regret and doubt, they cloud our mind,

A peace we seek, yet never find

We battle fear, we fight our pride

We hide the pain we keep inside

But though in this war, rage may burn

There is still much for us to learn 

For strength is found in lessons past,

And wounds can heal, though scars may last 

You'll win the war you fight inside 

With faith and hope as your guide 

Down below

It's a sun slanting through the still swings kind of day, 

the possibilities seem to stretch merely to 

the rusted playground and a brown stretch of bermuda 

Cousins, bored by the static on the scratched plastic slides 

We choose to descend, the manhole grating as we go, carefully down dark ways and slime flights, 

Into the sewers. 

We traverse the passages, full of lichen 

and the sound of water in the dark. 

We crouch together as we hear the roar of careening monsters far above our heads. We find ourselves, suddenly, trespassers in a domain belonging to the Dark-limbed spider and 

the blind-eyed fish and 

the rusted tin can. 

But we find that this journey has an end. 

Dawn ahead after a dayless age, we clear branches and 

Brush aside creeper vines, 

And find ourselves gently blinded, 

In a new world green with moss and leaf-sifted light, 

loud with the sound of frogs. 

We step into the sun-splashed day, 

shaking off those strange, primeval coats that made us 

creatures of the dark, 

And pursue silver, quick darting minnows, who 

escape to the shadows we once came from, 

Liquid creatures belonging to the 

dawn and the gloaming together. 

At long last we steel ourselves and enter again into the realms of the underworld, And finally emerge changêd beings, spider webbed and mud-spattered Wondering at our journey and the new knowledge of 

Worlds yet alive 

under our very feet.

Existential

I dropped a fork into the trash can

and for some reason it felt existential,

like the fate of the world hinged

solely on my ability to put my dishes away

and that failure spelled doom

for me and all who come after,

but I held my breath and fished it out,

and so doom was reversed by humility.

O! My Captain

Reeling, swaying upon the ocean’s knees

Like a child bounced upon a mother’s lap

The wind once kind and fair in its caress

Cackles in sardonic bemusedment at our lot

Ah, that rain ’twas not it sweet once ago?

A sky once dreamy blue, filled with sun’s hues

Cannot see it anymore, gone, gone for another.

Down, the ship falls from mountain's height

Hurled like lightning from the sky, cast down!

Twas this plane e'er tumultuous and shattered once ago?

The wind! How it rages, catching all thought away

Half blind with tears of another, is that a man overboard?

Yelling, despair and a cold wind’s laugh is all to hear.

Pumps grind in brittle, fragile groaning of heavy labor

Hands marred with blood from endless yanking on sodden rope

Oh hellish night, ceaseless fright, who is to divine salvation?

He shall come, footfalls are traced upon these waters

A word, yes! a word, all shall dissipate, a fairer ocean to find

Waiting for belgard man to stagger in, the sun is there

A land for rest and a man that welcomes all that seek.

Captain, blest thy hands to steer the ship thither hence

Always

Everything is tired.

Tired of feeling and tired of moving.

Tired of snow and tired of cold.

Tired of waiting for time to pass,

Tired of the passing of time.

Inexplicably,

I'm still in love with you.

At once, you're the sun on my back

And the rain on my eyelashes.

Everything comes back.

Back from restlessness and back from pain.

Back from blizzards and back from tears.

Back from watching the sky for clouds,

Back from cloudy skies.

Inevitably,

I'm still in love with you.

Flowers are blooming, everywhere.

Beacon

There are few in the world worthy to be called beacons. It was you, Lord, who created light from the words that you have spoken, 

A light that beckons forth those who lie in darkness. You have pulled us out of our sorrow, you will never forsake your promise. 

A light that dispels shadows even in the darkest days. A sign for those who have lost their way. 

My Lord, you are the pinnacle of light shining at the precipice of creation. 

Your Kingdom, in which we will dwell, shall be eternal, immune from all degradation. 

We are your moons, a reflection of the Son’s light. You aid us in illuminating the path for those stuck in endless night. 

You are the truth in the fire that we gather round. Gazing upward to you wearing your thorn crown. 

When we take our final rest, we will see you in your full glory.

It was the end of our time, but only the beginning of our story.

Nothings

In doing nothing there's accomplishment:

In abandoning the computer

To see an art exhibit down the street

And running into an old friend,

In climbing a mountain

And feeling the pleasant burning in your calves,

In painting your nails green,

In putting up fairy lights,

In making a flower crown

With your own two hands

Because no one said you couldn't.

Five fathoms down

Whales make their songs;

In small goods,

God is present.

Untitled

Imperfect, imperfect sinner:

broken, torn in the race. In

need of our noble Healer,

In need of His own grace, My

child, 

In need of His own grace. 

Perfect, perfect is our Saviour: Redeemer,

Healer, Friend. In our rebellious

behaviour, That He would condescend,

My dear, 

That He would condescend.

Close yet so far

The closer I get to you the less I feel, like walking up a mountain to feel the warmth of the sun only to be met with snow. I know you now more than ever, and yet I am a stranger. My prayers have grown shorter as my walk has only gotten longer. I feel like a liar claiming I found you when you are nowhere in sight. 

Close yet so far 

Faith, like an endless staircase, climbing till my legs give out. Only to realize I'm still on the first floor. A never-ending hallway, running until I can't breathe, and yet I haven't taken a step. 

Close yet so far 

Surrounded by flames burning bright in your name, the heat does not reach me. My faith, a candle, next to their blaze. Wading through living water, my clothes remain dry. Surrounded by your light, and yet I cannot see your hand at work all around me. It is within reach, but beyond grasp. 

Close yet so far 

I can never reach you no matter how hard I try. A 1,000 lifetimes would not be enough. But it was you who grabbed my hand. You reassure me, through all my struggles and doubts. For I am in your grasp Lord, You will never let me go. 

Snowflakes

How they dance and twirl in gaiety 

Delightful in glide, graceful in stride 

Delicate in form, strength in unity 

Great are they, arrayed in power and pride 

Those ladies and lords in opulence shine 

Fixating the mind in rapture and wonder 

Squall’s ministers that come in their due time 

Many a merry lands do they plunder 

Gently hurtling down as silver stars 

The very tears of heaven captured in ice 

A taste of the glories waiting afar 

 Such beauty that comes without a price 

O, mortal man, cans’t thou not see

What blessedness thou hast and yet to be

Blink

This is why we blink 

To capture and process the crucial. 

But at our college, we go to the Blink, 

Our snackshop haven in the pre-break hurricane 

To capture and process the crucial 

Fingers freeze, like time, to pints of Java Jolt 

Our snackshop haven in the pre-break hurricane

Pausing for hard-earned quesadillas, string lights, Bing Crosby 

Fingers freeze, like time, to pints of Java Jolt 

And like ancestral Scots in battle's lull 

Pausing for hard-earned haggis, folksongs in the dark 

We are Blinking in finals' midnight eye 

But like ancestral Scots in battle's lull  

We have to ask: what are we fighting for? 

We are Blinking in finals' midnight eye 

But only a thin diploma will prove the war 

We have to ask: what are we fighting for? 

I know we'll graduate in memory-loaded regalia 

But only a thin diploma will prove the war 

So I blink. Suddenly, my friends are glowing again, Christmas lights unboxed—

I know we'll graduate in memory-loaded regalia 

So this is why we Blink: 

To unbury the lights beside us, and battle on seeing. 

At our college, we Blink to blink. 

Villanelle on First Snow

A long a weary march the year has been,

And fraught with forks and fear along the way,

Yet Christmas Snow is falling, soft and sweet.

Though pricks and pins of joy we each have seen, 

Still oftener sorrow shadows close of day—

A long and weary march the year has been.

“God Rest Ye” now, as flurries fly, and meet

The Lion—savage shepherd—infant made;

For Christmas Snow is falling, soft and sweet. 

Hear his story, listen and believe!

We do not walk alone this weary way—

At every mile marched, he too has been.

Come rest, and laugh, and weep, and taste and see—

His story told is yours, with him your place.

Fall free on Christian rest—soft grace, snow-sweet. 

Savior’s feast is spread for us to eat;

Old Winter’s wind blows brighter merry flames!

For long and weary is the year indeed—

Yet Christmas snow soft-speaks Eternity.