Inside His Hand

dugout-reflection

When what my eyes can see is not reality,

When beautiful appears as Judas’ kiss;

When up turns out to sink like stones of gravity,

And all is chaos, I remember this –

No matter the confusion all around me,

No matter how things look from where I stand,

The God who reigns above, both pure and Holy,

Holds every circumstance inside His hand.

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Lungs

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Lungs inhale

and drown dry

in murky places

flooded by drought.

Doubts rise,

mercurial deadfall

trapped in curdled chaos,

where dreams sink dumb-founded.

Panic

routs Freedom

until the Peacekeeper

is breathed in,

exhaled slow,

invited into capillaries,

sweet oxygenated blood

to cover

desperate respiration.

Clear This Path

Life can be – messy.

Confusing.

Complicated.

The path we tread

is often concealed by debris

left behind from the Fall.

It’s so easy to lose our way

when we are afraid to wade in,

engage with the  mayhem,

combat the clutter,

step on things that crunch

or go bump in the night.

But

if you hold my hand,

and I pin my heart to my sleeve,

we just might

muddle our way through.

Turn the tables on turmoil.

Clear this path.

Together.