Tell Your Heart to Be Still

We often think we're ready to let go,
Ready to surrender and trust our greatest burdens
To the One who says, "I know."
Until we see Him carry off the load
And then we know that burden was our treasure,
As it's disappearing down the road.
It's then our heart starts to race after,
But He stops, and says, "No.
Tell your heart to be still, do not follow.
Wait for me here, I'll look for you low."

Live

Stop trying to die, and live.
Stop wondering why you feel so dull,
And lacking what you want to give
Stop waiting to eat until you feel full.

Come alive, and live.

It's then you'll grow bold,
And find you can't but love and love, give,
Give all, and all, and ah, there life unfolds.

We Wait

Most say Promise is held by the dawn and no doubt he is, but I’ve always found him at dusk, waiting. He and hope embracing and waiting. Something about finding him, after he’s weathered the storm, weathered the day, weathered the… weather, makes me want to trust him. Makes me believe that he’ll be there tomorrow. Yes, Promise will be there in the morning, and he’ll be true, because tonight he’s here, in the dusk of the day, holding hope and waiting. Perhaps, waiting for me to hold him too or let him hold me. Perhaps waiting, just so I don’t have to wait alone. And so we do, he and I and hope, we wait.

Travelling

I can't travel without you, for this thing I call longing
to explore, wander chase furies 'cross the oceans,
Is nothing but the ache in my heart that misses belonging.
It's me missing you, a quiet heart's steady motion.
I long to travel, I long to be that place away
That place away with you, where your heart's travelling too.

I want to see what you see

Want to know what you feel

From those eyes that so freely

Steal glances at me.

Fill Me Up.

A broken bowl to be poured out,
But nothing remains in this empty heart
Except a meal of doubt.

And doubt sounds big to the hearer,
But even after you've taken your part
You find hunger all the nearer.

Still, a bowl, though broken and reckless,
To the maker remains a work of art,
If only it is filled by something priceless

So this reckless heart is waiting for a river.
And though broken, once waters start
I'll say, "Fill me up, I'm the artwork of the Giver."

Tease the Alphabet

I'm just like all the rest,
who like to tease the alphabet
when faced with inner distress.

Playing with words in my head
Then wondering at the typeset,
What have I even just said?