cherish, o, those words so tender
as He softly speaks my name
at His image I remember
not my sin or dark of shame

at the right hand of the Father
judging saints and sinners all
from His precepts never wandered
from His grace never to fall

saved from that dark pit infernal
getting not what I deserve
son of God and heir eternal
at the feet of Him I serve

sharing heaven with my Savior
life not ending, glory found
resting in the arms of my Lord
resting where pure joy abounds

He holds me in place, gently yet firmly, knowing I won’t run.

I refuse to struggle against his grip – the ever-obedient son.

After all, Father knows best, even when I can’t make sense of it.

I just can’t help wondering, how will my suffering give anyone benefit?

As my hand brushes my skin, fear bumps swell in unison on my chest,

my face and heart involuntarily question the logic of my father’s request.

Why ask this of me? Why this? Why me? Why take what I might freely give?

Before my fears can grip me, rip me, I flip my tears away, or dam them where they live.

My adam’s apple’s swelling and getting harder to swallow.

But from Father’s eyes come peace, certainty, grace; my eyes follow.

Courage can mean a lot of things, but it does not mean fearless.

And what of Mother? Will she still laugh, or in her mourning remain tearless?

I try not to dwell too long on the coming scene, on how I will die.

I try not to think too much of the altar of twigs, of where I will lie.

Or even consider the cords that may bind my hands and feet.

My father will surely make it quick – finished before my first bleat.

So I rest on one knee, where the sacrificial oil will flow,

hesitating slightly, in case mercy he decides to bestow.

My weak body caving to my spirit yet willing:

Father, if you will, take from me this cup of suffering.

arboreal chamber with walls of dismay.

Tarnished and yellowed, archaic and shunned,

limbs hanging tired in decrepit decay.

Bark fell off mangy and scabbed with disease,

rough like their voices, still churning out sneers.

Saplings and creepers, young scandalous trees,

sarcasm, ridicule, showing no fear.

Then all the trees to the bramble in scorn,

smiling and smirking, “You come be our king!”

Barbs, spurs, tines, points, prongs, spikes, prickles and thorns,

each red with tenderness after the sting.

Woven, suspended, intending no harm,

Thornbush fell wordless and stretched out his arms.

share a fruit snack from the tree.

Find figs in fashion.

Big hair meant great brawn.

Lost in lust, Delilah lied.

One blind act redeemed.

Prayed three times each day.

Pray, to avoid lion’s lunch.

Prey not, for Dan prayed.

Shad, Mesh and Abed:

Forty foot idol of gold.

No bow–fire–no die.

Minute man, big foe.

One choice stone properly placed.

Fought well. Believed well.

One Man, once for all.

His death exchanged for our life.

He lives, so we live.

I embrace the kneading purr–a delicate setting at last.

With bleeding reds of ketchup, blood or wine,

the singe of one-hundred-forty degrees purifies

and lifts the spots, now soaked, washed and laundered.

Harsh detergents, new and improved, promise a deeper clean.

My fabric burns, naked and immersed in the ammonia chlorine.

Starched encounters softened by Downy blue

retain the garden stench of potpourri perfume.

Fifty-five minutes of tortured agitation squandered.

My world spins, dizzy. My mouth opens, watering to retch.

Then I rest, thirsty. The filtered rinse preparing to drench.

Gray water discharges to the long-awaited drain,

the evacuating reminder of a darkened disdain.

As my fleshy garment emerges afresh, I ponder–

the wash cycle’s cruel kindness.

I’d choose a palette infused with browns and reds.

I’d squeeze onions to wet the watercolors,

warpaint under my eyes to battle with the canvas.

I’d paint with acrylics in an airtight closet

and one fifteen-watt incandescent bulb.

No smiling scratch-n-sniff.

No fruity tones.

No bouquets.

I’d lick the spongy tips to moisten them,

the venom of pepper-vinegar affixed to my tongue.

I’d whip bold, plucky, cutting strokes,

hurrying to finish and flip to the other side.

I’d not use paint at all, but spread gritty chalks on a new, black board,

screeching as they give themselves to the art.

I’d look away, toward the finished image of perfection,

the box-top of a jigsaw puzzle.

I’d finger-paint, boiling the colors to singe my fingertips,

adding blood to the red

and body to the brown.

Then I’d hammer nails in its hands and hang it high for all to see,

the beauty redeeming the pain.

Originating from my own bite

Yawning now, the red masks my anger

Gazing blindly through my eyelids tight

Bellowing incoherent utters

I gag on the tang of words so yuck

Violently I start to stutter

Colorful language seemingly stuck

Ranging from the vile and vulgar

Or perhaps changing before my lips

Yelling morphs instead into whispers

Growing softer as my foul mood shifts

By the time my terse tongue needs taming

Involuntarily my fit folds

Victory over tantrum flaming

Colored stories thankfully untold

the blossom opens
colors and petals
revealing a beauty untold

once blooming in full
the fullness of joy
evident for all to behold

opening is through
the center exposed
its story is somehow not whole

the torah’s a bud
alluding to more
unseen fullness yet to unfold

then prophets unpack
more of his truth shown
a glimpse of a story untold

this testament shows
the Glorious One
a Savior for all to behold

epistles complete
the truth known throughout
a story that’s finally whole

marching in a rhythmic drone of dread

life’s warriors opposed to my chosen track

they’re towering before me with intimidating stares

wrestling my faith from my feeble grasp

each one worthy of the ensuing nightmares

their arrows and darts mean to wound and kill

the awareness of my inadequacy i cannot evade

so before His glory and power i am quietly still

i cry out to Him to fight on my behalf

to rescue me from these worries and ills

to comfort me with His rod and His staff

shoes of peace on my feet, His armor’s in place

with a belt of truth, and God’s righteousness on my back

the sword of His Spirit and a strong shield of faith

now prepared for this battle, i rest in His love

the shadow of his might overwhelms me with grace

and i quietly and expectantly await victory from above

Jesus Calling – Sarah Young – 8/18 – Anticipate coming face to face with impossibilities: situations totally beyond your ability to handle. This awareness of your inadequacy is not something you should try to evade. It is precisely where I want you — the best place to encounter Me in My Glory and Power. When you see armies of problems marching toward you, cry out to Me! Allow Me to fight for you. Watch Me working on your behalf, as you rest in the shadow of My Almighty Presence.

Armor of God – Ephesians 6:13-17 “Therefore, put on every piece of God’s armor so you will be able to resist the enemy in the time of evil. Then after the battle you will still be standing firm. Stand your ground, putting on the belt of truth and the body armor of God’s righteousness. For shoes, put on the peace that comes from the Good News so that you will be fully prepared. In addition to all of these, hold up the shield of faith to stop the fiery arrows of the devil. Put on salvation as your helmet, and take the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

I paraphrased it for them like this:

in times of trouble
He hears our cry
the God of Jacob keeps us safe unto Him
He sends us help
from His sanctuary
and strengthens us from Jerusalem

our heart’s desires
He grants for us
and makes all our plans succeed
we shout for joy
raise our banner high
for in the name of our God is victory

the anointed king
is answered from heav’n
and rescued by His great pow’r
some nations boast
of chariot and horse
but we boast in the name of our God

those nations will all
collapse and fall down
but we stand firm and rise up
give us victory
oh Lord, to our king
and answer our cry for help

I hope this serves to encourage others as it has encouraged our friends, and as it has likewise encouraged us…

Grace and peace,

Delton