29 March 2011

My yoke is easy... is yours?

Lost amid the din and roar

A still small voice is here once more

Inviting me to come and rest

As one who truly could be blessed

But do I listen? Do I slow?

Too often still, the answer's no.

I've things to do, places to be

Expectations weigh sore on me.

For one who's drunk the draft of life

Other waters I still seek to soothe my strife.

Instead of seeking His load so light,

I shoulder my own with all my might

Though I always stumble, always fall

I still pretend I can handle it all

"I'm fine" I cry when friends do ask

"I'm up to the challenge! I'm up to the task!"

Weak and frail I dare not appear!

What would they think if they could
see in here?

Here where my darkest pains inside,

From my own self I try to hide.

I dare not seek His blessed rest

Lest I should fail to pass the test

If only I could for once just see

It is in my weakness He wants to be

Closer than a brother dear

The One to banish all doubt and fear.

Sweet waters of life and eyes to see

He freely offers you and me.

For one who's debt by Him was borne

I still yet fear the Accuser's scorn

When right there all along has been

A Father to welcome this prodigal in.

25 March 2011

The Mountain

I paused on my trail up the mountain vale

and looked back at the valley below

all the days I’d seen when eyes were keen

and the things I’d come to know.

I saw glints atop the places I’d stopped

where a life I'd tried to build

of hardships borne and hopes betorn

and promises unfulfilled.

Back then the end seemed far round the bend

I’d no thought for what I might find

whence came the days when I surely faced

fewer steps ahead than behind.

I saw rocks a’hewn and rubble strewn

where I’d struggled and where I fell

their imprints there and everywhere

each with its own tale to tell.

I saw a few sweet springs of dew

and joys I’d thought would last.

Never once did I fear those things so dear

could become part of ages past.

The mountain crest seemed at its best

foggy and unclear.

Too late I turned to lessons learned

until ‘twas too late for fear.

Now I can see with eyes that be

growing dim at an e'er quicker pace

that the paths I tried in foolish pride

left scars naught can erase.

The mountain looms with unknown dooms

though I know not what may befall.

Will I die so weak on that summit peak

still looming so grand and tall?

Or will I fall short, with no resort

by chance or pain or choice?

Will evil’s lure reach premature

to silence my wondering voice?

I’m rested now more, though my burden sore

lie heavier than I could have dreamed

when the mountain tall seemed almost all

ahead of me unseen.

But shouldering my pack, with one last look back

I set out on the trail once more

for no power of man can change the plan

that drives me on as before.

I cannot go back, though there’s no lack

of good intentions and regrets.

Nor can I lie and wait here to die

and loose life’s cruel fetts.

No, my only choice is to make my voice

more determined than before

to say what I must, to do what is just

and continue my climbing chore.

I can only host the trailing ghosts

that trod my long worn road

and make small amends, and where I can, make friends

to lighten each other’s load.