Look what Christ can do— bound as He was to a cross, weary and strangled in pain, a joke on the lips of man, a curse on the lips of God— death of the Immortal. He died like no one else— the pride of the Father’s eyes, a portal torn in the veil from Satan’s […]
Read more "What Christ Can Do"
He had the hands of a man,
grown from curled-up baby hands
to dirty, in-a-hurry boy hands
to hands that could wield
a hammer and nails;
hands obscured for thirty years
in seas of Jewish hands;
revealed—man-defying Teacher hands,
hands that could hold
and shelter and bleed;
hands, nearer with every breath,
to nail-intruded hands,
to weighed-with-the-sins-of-the-world hands,
the hands still moving,
washing dirt from feet.
His hands are the hands of God,
blameless, righteous, holy hands,
the died-and-lives-forever hands,
the hands that welcome
sinners into life.
Read more "The Hands of Christ"
When man first came to be and watched from out the windows of his eyes the shifting world about he saw the shine of sunlight on the waves and perceived, invisible, the rushing brush that bowed the trees, he knew the richness of his world and loved it. – When man first turned his mind […]
Read more "The Glasses"
Blood drips down and pools in little eddies— swirls of life. Warm. Metallic. Salty. Tarns of crimson cradled in stone. A cup to catch the ransom for our life. – – –
Read more "Crimson Reflection"
I thought that I was finished—I was wrong. A Headache night, a little sleep, a hurried day. Classes never ended, a week that lasted long— Waiting eagerly to eat and drink and play. A headache night, a little sleep, a hurried day Became my accepted practice all the time. Waiting eagerly to eat and drink […]
Read more "A Pantoum"