silence

A young girl stands on a street corner
as night falls
and street lamps light all around her
she is scared, desperate, and completely empty of hope

A small boy huddles beneath a makeshift shelter
he shivers and wraps his arms around himself
as his tears are lost in the downpour
he knows no one will return for him

A mother holds a tiny skeletal infant
and simply watches him breathe in and breathe out
wondering which breath will be his last
there has been no food for days

The world is full of hungry, hurting, dying people
silenced by our comfort, our wealth, our ease
apathy, cowardice, selfishness
such a strange silence pierces me, breaks me, empties me

Tears won't even come
my breath catches in my chest
anguish and anger burn until I must cry out
for a revolution

Two paths lie before me in the form of two best-selling books.

One is red and bears a black-and-white picture of two young brothers who set out to change the world.

The other is colorful — colored by a photograph of 13 brown smiling faces and the face of a young twenty-two year old white woman who once upon a time went on a three-week-long mission trip to Uganda.

Some say that they are the same — these two messages. Some say that one is for some people while the other is for those specially called. Some say that both are great testaments of Christianity. But I say differently. I say that is blasphemy, apostasy, lunacy.

Because I am hungry, hurting, and dying
made silent by your apathy, cowardice, selfishness
rumors, lies, betrayal
I am suffocating

Tears won't even come
my breath catches in my chest
anguish and anger burn until I must cry out
for reprieve, for hope, for love

Two gospels lie before me: I have chosen one. I have discarded the other as if it were filthy rags — rags so filthy that they must be burned, rendered ashes by a blazing fire. Now that I stand aside and watch the smoke, I think on what I have done — and what I could have.

I could have chosen both, they said. But that would have been to lose all that I have before me, all that fills my heart, the One who takes my hand and speaks and guides me moment by moment. That would have been to burn all the pages of my life filled with Words of red. That would have been to crucify my Savior.

For before me I see my Savior and He has tears in His eyes
He is dirty and filthy and hungry and cold
and I know He will say the same to me if I join you
as I would say to you

Because I was hungry
and you did not nourish me
I was thirsty
and you gave me vinegar to drink
I was hurting
and you were as salt to my wounds
I was alone
and you spread rumors about me
I was friendless
and you shunned me
I was without shelter
and you would not protect me
I was dying
and you would not sacrifice yourself to save me
I was the "least," the outcast, the downtrodden, the worthless
and you did not love me

I see a world of people just like me
more than that
I see Jesus all around me
I see His tears in their eyes
I see His pain in their faces
I see piercings of thorns upon their weary brows
I see nail prints in the hands that reach out for mine
I see His fingerprints on each of them

I cannot turn away
I cannot walk your path
I will not go back
for I consider how He loved me
and sacrifices are not a response
"hard things" are a mockery
anything less than He gave
I cannot give
it is spitting in His Face
He gave everything for me
I must give nothing less
love, love — I must love
lest my heart and soul perish

Oh, but my love is nothing
my all is nothing
I am nothing
I have nothing
but what I give
take it
form something of dust once more
breathe on it
form me after You
heart of Your Heart
passionate
compassionate
You deserve something beautiful

I have no strength
to fight the storm
I have no courage left
that I might stay in the boat
and row with all my strength against the mighty waves
nothing left within me cries out to do hard things

I want the impossible
I want to hang upon a cross and rise again
I want to lose all privilege and prospects
my hopes, my dreams, my cherished treasures, my life
that I might find You
and love You
I want to love

Call to me from the water
bid me to come
take my hand, for I am cowardly and weak, lest I sink
make me bold
make me faithful
make me real
let me walk with You
let me bind Your wounds
let me take Your infirmities
let me hold You as a tiny shelterless swaddled baby
let me weep with You in the garden
let me pray with You through the night
let me quell Your fears when You are afraid
teach me to love
to look upon Your Face
and recognize You
and listen
to Your cry
Your Voice
Your Heart
and never, ever silence You

a true story

Once upon a time
there was a horse
who walked the city streets daily
side by side with his owner
who was a poor man
by the name of Bill

When people drove by in their cars
and saw the horse on its afternoon walks
they would gape in wonder

When dogs saw the horse while walking by with their owners
when the horse and his owner took their evening walk
they would bark and tug on their leashes at the strange sight
of such a large dog heeling in perfect submission

And likewise the churches and their religious have made a spectacle of themselves
but not as God intended
simply put
they are not free

dust

You number my wanderings;
Put my tears into Your bottle;
Are they not in Your book?
-Psalm 56:8

A father sings his last lullaby
gently tucks the blanket around his sleeping child
and walks out into the darkness
he is only a memory now

A son bids a tearful farewell
he hugs his sisters and mother
grabs his solitary piece of luggage
and leaves for the place from whence few return

A mother grasps the hand of her child
and looks upon his small face with sorrow in her eyes
for she will not watch him grow, or comfort him, or guide him
and he already looks lost

The earth keeps turning
the sun rises and sets once more
the darkness comes
life is the same

But not for those of us who loved
and knew love

Can one who hung upon a cross forget
the love that put him there?

Can one who heard the voice and felt the touch and wept the tears forget
all that was lost?

And the creature returns to dust
for from dust it was made
but it was not dust for whom the Creator died
it was promise and hope and hands held and dreams shared while walking amidst a garden in the cool of the day

Can You forget
the ones for whom You died?

Can You forget
the names engraved by the piercing of a nail into the palm of Your Hands?

Forget not Your Love for me, O God
for I am but dust
I have hung
and died
I wept and I cried out
but I did not turn and walk away
I did not stop them
I carried the cross
I let them pierce me
until Your Name was engraved in the palms of my hands
and the blood and water flowed from my broken heart
forget not Your Love, O God
forget not the promise and the hope and the hands held and dreams shared
that You would breathe once more upon Your Bride