Footprints in the Snow

Months, it seems,
Have I spent in fighting.
Up and down and back and forth,
Back and forth and up and down,
As though I were taking a ride
On a roller coaster of terror.

The man at the front,
Mockingly dressed in garments of a happy bright,
Deceitfully seats me,
Straps me in tight.
His voice mercilessly rings out:

"Next stop, Depression!
Next stop, Despair!
Next stop, Despondence!"

"Please..."
Comes my weary cry,
"Let me off!"

Why do I submit to this cycle of destruction?
Why can I not find joy?
Why do I,
Over and over,
Spend weeks in the grind,
Only to be harshly awakened by
The reality that my soul is
Tired.
Weak.
Helpless.

The coaster stops for a moment,
Long enough for me to see,
To embrace and to enjoy,
Something beyond myself.

Footprints in the snow,
Captured on film.
Who knew looking through that small lens
Could bring about such great change
In this broken-down heart?
A moment of grace,
An evidence of charis.
There on the ground,
Where ten thousand frozen droplets of water,
Each intricately, uniquely woven,
Were met by the feet of a human.

All at once,
It seems,
I can see again.

A tree, strong and majestic;
A fire of warmth and power;
The colors of a setting sun,
Of pink and orange and beauty.
All these moments of grace;
How had I been missing them?
My roller coaster of terror
Had whispered sweet deception to me,
"Your life is useless;
The world is hopeless;
Surrender to the inevitable
Despair."

Yet,
On that day in the snow,
Where winter and wonder collided,
A far greater,
Far truer Voice
Penetrated my darkness,
"God is not dead,
Nor doth He sleep.*
Awake, Oh soul!
Awake, and sing!
Sing to the Lord,
His love pours out.
Look to Him
And find the grace
Of every moment,
Richly given."

Thus,
Though life may seem bleak
And times dark and desperate,
We do not live as those without hope.
Grace is here,
And love is here,
For He came down
To bring Shalom.


*From "Christmas Bells" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Alone

Alone.















A lonely fish in some impersonal bowl,
Swimming fiercely, furiously,
Fins dancing in a frenzy.
Searching.
Crying out.
Pounding its head against the walls which so easily contain him,
Wondering,
Hoping,
Praying.
Feebly,
His voice quakes,
"Is anyone there?"

Sad, slow, and singular,
Sits Horton the Elephant.
No other of his kind,
Nowhere to be found.
He searches
For someone,
Anyone,
To hear his cries,
To listen to his thoughts,
But most of all,
To understand.
A speck of dust is found,
Where life and friends abound.
No one here believes him;
He hangs his head;
Defeated.

The Creature, the Monster,
The One without a name.
Created in madness,
Left alone
In a state of detestable existence.
This Modern Prometheus,
Longing to be known,
To be loved,
Learns, the worst way there is,
That no human being could ever love
A creature as hideous as he.
Forsaken and forlorn.
Broken.
Bitter.

Stories to which my heart clings,
Cries.
How,
In this world of instant gratification,
Of high-speed pace,
Where Beijing meets L.A.
In two seconds flat,
Could one feel so distant,
So detached,
So....
Alone?
I too, search,
Seemingly in vain,
For someone,
Anyone,
To understand this heart,
This collision of flesh and soul.
I long,
Yet fear,
For if you really knew what happens here,
In my corruption,
In the depths of my person,
Could you understand?
Could you love?

From others, I have heard the same.
Even in the closest of human relations,
An overwhelming beauty,
Covenant before God and man,
A longing endures,
A certain insatiable hunger
For something deeper.

I know You must have felt it too,
This emptiness,
This separation.
You, who dwelt among men,
Yet were holy, set apart.
You,
Who were surrounded by many,
But rejected by most.
Surely You,
Who bore all our pain and suffering,
All our sin,
Know what it is to feel alone.
Naked,
Hanging in shame,
Bleeding,
Dying,
Alone.

Yet you did not lose heart;
A greater hope,
A more perfect love,
Comforted Your soul.
I see,
From Your holy, perfect life,
The only remedy
For this illness of the mind
Is communion with The Great Healer;
The only fix
For this endlessly dark hole
Is light from The Infinite One.
No human relationship,
No matter how special,
Could ever satisfy this longing.
Only You.

Come into our hearts;
Fill this emptiness we feel!
May these desires,
To be known and to be loved,
Be satisfied in You.
May we never be brought to despair,
But instead hasten us to Your side,
Where innocent blood flowed
That made a way for us to be
Ultimately known,
Yet perfectly loved.

Things Forgotten

This room is familiar:
These walls, this floor, the air.
I strive to recollect,
All the times I have listened, learned, cried in here.
The Great Teacher smiles upon me;
He, whose knowledge exceeds all,
Who knows me better than even I.
"What shall I learn today?"
I eagerly question,
In hopes of something scholarly,
Something advanced,
Something I could deem worthy.

He lovingly speaks,

"Trust."

Enraged, I cry out
With bitterness,
"Teacher, have I not already learned this?
I know I have!
I remember!
When brother moved away,
When You led me to camp,
When You drew me back to this town,
When he left me for months,
When Dad was gone...
I sat in this very room,
Learned this very lesson.
I know trust."

He looks at me, into me, through me.
Patiently, knowingly, perfectly.
He needn't say anything,
For He speaks to my soul;
Without comprehensible syllables,
He communicates,
Beautifully, articulately.
I know He is right;
He is always right.

I have forgotten.

O'er and o'er
Has He proven His faithfulness
To this faithless creature.
O'er and o'er
Have I turned away;
Forgotten;
Forsaken;
Lessons so flawlessly taught,
Yet so foolishly abandoned.

I fall down.
Ashamed.
Despondent.
"Forgive me,
Oh Great Teacher!
For against You,
You only,
Do I sin.
Not life,
But death is all I deserve.
Were justice to be done,
This shallow breathing would cease,
And the beating of this weak and weary heart
Would drum no more."

I look up;
Grace overwhelms me;
Peace,
Love,
And mercy abounding.

He calls to me.
"Cease striving,
And know
I AM."


Lessons taught,
Lessons learned,
Flood my mind,
Like the tears upon my face.
Accepted,
Saved,
Redeemed,
Sanctified,
Loved,
Justified,
Conquerer...
Because of Christ alone,
For Christ alone,
By His blood alone.

These sweet truths
I pray not so easily to forget.
Even if I do,
Prone to wander as I am,
There is hope.
The Great Teacher is not yet finished;
More,
An unspeakable glory,
A perfect Shalom,
Is yet to come!

Let it come!

Winter

It is cold here,
This winter of heart and land.
Who will come to warm us?
Who will be the one to save us
From our killing
From our wars
From our fighting
From our drugs
Pain
Strife
Death
Confusion
Perversities
Anger
Pride
Abuse
Injustice
Depression
Hopelessness
Hatred?
All only symptoms
Of a much larger war.
SIN.
How can we fight?
How can we win?
Since birth, corrupted.
"Be the change you wish to see in the world."
I cannot change.
No one can change.
No small Indian man with a vision and a fight;
No sweet old nun, selfless in her heart;
No suit and tied man armed with legislation and war;
All of us broken and bruised.
Marred by SIN.
Separated from our only hope
Because He is too good,
and we are not.
Bleak.
Hopeless.

There is One,
Greater than all of this
Who was, is, and is to come.
He came through the line of a king
But exceeds all those before Him.
Born humbly, abjectly
Surrounded by the unclean,
Yet filled with glory.
He is our sole Hope, our Savior, the one to mend our hearts.
He has made it right.
We may now enter in,
Still broken and bruised,
But hopeful.
He can change that which cannot be changed.
Our hearts of stone,
Immovable,
He has melted
With one glimpse of His glorious grace.
Hope of the Jew and the Gentile,
He is righteous and good and perfect,
Everything we were not.
Our greatest joy is
Knowing Him.
He has come to warm us.
His all consuming fire,
To save us from our winter enslavement
And bring life once again.

Come, oh come, Emmanuel!