Secrets in the Night.

I open my eyes, and I see the night rolling past. My heart quickens, I’ve won. I’m first to your feet, to your face, to your arms. No wonder the sun races to be near you, but before he can reach us, you whisper secrets in my ear. While the darkness conceals us you teach me, entreat me. The secret unsealed: You’re about to release us! Your glory will mark us, enlight us, and blind us. We’ll be blind to the fear and the “impossible” speaker.

When the sun finally rises, he fears us, for the glory of the Father heats us. With unveiled faces, we march out to meet them, the uncircumcised fools who dare to not fear Him! They cannot hear Him. But what happens when the world meets a people who dwell in the Cloud and follow the Storm, who step out of the crowd and refuse to perform? When the cloud raises, the crowd parts, we run out as fast and as far “Behold us and touch us for the God of Glory has fallen upon us!”

That is the secret: “When the darkness gets darker, the light grows all brighter. Daughter, oh daughter, come closer to my fire. Your face feels my burning, and your heart feels desire. When the sun rises to meet us, he’ll melt in the wonder, he’ll shine in the shadow of the children of the Mighty One. Soon, your faces will behold me then all creation will know you as “the children of Moses, the made-righteous ones." I have foretold them of you. By dawn, your face will glow brighter than the first birth of sun.

And I hear, I hear, and you are still here! A tear. I draw nearer. Please tell me Your secret again!

Love, Take Your Toll

Love, take your toll,
I want all that is in store.
Ignite my soul,
Every ember at my core.
Take it, strike it!
Light it, delighted.

Our Generation.

They don’t seek to do the devil danger, they just want to further the reach of the Father. They’re offensive in thought, dynamic in word, action, behavior, deed, being. They “be” because He spoke it. They move because they see Him ahead, moving. They aren’t content with the view friendship might afford them, they must be in the midst of His awful Presence. They cry out for “the friendship AND the fear.” Their parents tried to be friends, now they want training. They want a God who is powerful, frightening, uncontrollable, unadulterated Love. The news once labeled them violent, the doctors diagnose them as the product of video games, thrillers, television’s claws. Our generation. But God calls them danger-cravers, they run into the fire because they see His face there. They stick their feet on the water, because they hear His voice there. They paint the dreams, because they see the truth there.

When words become matter, they shape destiny like playdough.



[This was fun. Last night we had a meeting where Pastor Dennis Peacocke shared about the supernatural realm. God protects this realm, where speech can change matter, because it can wreak havoc when we aren't completely centered in Christ. Yet, God wants us to learn to be centered, then to step out in these gifts. They are gifts He's given out, scattered throughout His people. We need to deal with the things in ourselves which are blocking Him, and we need to begin looking for miracles to happen through one another, our friends, and families...not through the big "superstars." After sharing, and then praying for God to work in us what He wills, and then praying for one another to be released into the power of the Lord, we worshiped. As we worshipped, lines kept coming to me, and finally I realized I had to go write them down. I'd been praying (and had it prayed over me) that I would be able to write with power, that my words would release things in others and touch places common speech can't. This was a quick paragraph that I doodled down at the end of the night. I am especially fond of the last sentence, I can't help but feel a little giddy when I read it.]

Smoke in Eden

She doubted this crisp air would ever fully warm. Her fingers tingled and newly shaved legs stung as the goose bumps spread up them. Not a human voice could be heard, and the birds were using this quiet to practice their song, each taking turns at the morning eulogy. She watched as the teenage neighbor, Jason, emerged in back of his house, how old was he now? Close to driving age. He reached for something behind the wood stacks and Jannie’s core tensed at once. An axe. He began cutting starter wood, and then returned inside. She almost laughed. Every person seemed a secret threat to her today, even the little boy she’d babysat in her teens. Within moments, the biting cold air was strung with the smell of smoke.

She closed her eyes and breathed the comforting scent in until her soul was on fire, and her nose was burning from the cold air. She refused to open her eyes. The cars, busily rushing to work on the hidden highway sounded like an ocean. She listened to the waves crashing as the tide came in. She could see her mom and dad lounging in beach chairs in the distance, her little brother Robert helping her build a mote for the sandcastle. The sand rubbed against her ankles and between her toes. They’d reminisced a lot lately about that family vacation; they’d spent a week together in Lincoln City, playing in the ocean and flying that little green kite.

She’d stay here all day, drinking her hot cup of coffee, forgetting the world, hidden in her mother’s secret garden. She didn’t need to think about the “details,” Robert said he’d take care of them all. The smoke in the air at once warmed her, brought her back by the fire, reading a book or watching a film with her parents. Her hair still wet from a nightly bath, her red flannel pajamas on. Then the smoke was ashy, cremating her past. Her nose stung, and her eyes blurred. The garden around her looked unkempt, and she realized her tears were the first good watering the flowers had received all year.

When she’d rung Suzanne yesterday, she’d been told to take the week off. “I’ll call the other girls and we’ll take turns filling in. Don’t worry, just take the time you need.” Yet, work sounded filling, and Lord she needed something, something more than an old garden and creaking porch swing, than birds squealing and an imaginary ocean. She needed her mother. Her mother who could make any mess a garden.

When they’d moved here she was only 6, starting second grade at a new school. Her mother had adopted the field of weeds and slowly created an Eden. Eden. Her mother always belonged in a garden, it’s where she knew to love. It’s where she’d held Jannie and promised her she’d make new friends. It’s where her mother told her the news. Her mother wasn’t here to hold her now. The smoke lifted from the chimney and reminded Jannie she’d better call Robert, let him know she was okay, and ask when the will was to be read.


[This is a piece of flash fiction I wrote last week for my Creative Story Writing course. I turned it in today...]