Men marvel wide-eyed, lost in awe

    at such vast, untamed strength,

         great beauty way beyond the power

                  of human mind to grasp –

  they write, they draw, they point their film

       but fail to see beyond,

               to Him who holds it in His hand …

                       instead they sigh and gasp                    

       

and put it down to “forces” which    

           the chasms deep did form,

                 the river falling, thrashing through,

                        “the plates did rise” they say;

     but who is it who holds each drop

           commands each rivulet?

        The One behind the river’s power,

                 Whom earth plates must obey?

 

   We look at little figurines       

              hunters of old did twist,

                    small symbols of their hunting prey,

                               mere shadows of the true.

        So too the Canyon represents

                    the glory great and vast

              that He prepared for Man to show,

                        for us, to be and do.                                       

                       

     The figurines are tokens small

           of those who them did make,   

                  So too the Canyon’s mighty walls

                        enfolding deep and high

          are tiny marks of Who He is –

                      Majestic without end –

              what we behold is but a breath,

                        a speck lost in the sky;

 

          The Canyons are a little poem,

                  a song He sang for us,

               a watercolour that He paints …

                   each morn when dawn does break;   

          but these are but reminders small

                   of His great glorious power,

              so let us worship not the thing                                   

                      but He who it did make.

                    Gleaming, glistening, glittering snow

                          shafts streaming sunlight bring

                                  dissolving gloom

                                        depleting grey

                                     the spirit starts to sing

 

                    But what of days dreary and dull

                         no streak of sun to see 

                               all dismal dark

                                   and weary-worn

                                        when life is on the lea ..?

 

                    That’s when I need to pause a while

                           to ponder winter’s part            

                                    in teaching us

                                          true peace will come

                                   from a contented heart            

                      “In acceptance lieth peace” –

                more easily said than done …

       Lord, help me here in this dull pain

              to trust what you have won

                    on that rough tree those years ago

                         when all my pain You bore,

                 You shattered bonds and brought bright hope

                          to all that on you call.

 

              The pain may linger for some time,

                          but time will reach its end,

                                  and then our hearts will run to You,

                             and on our knees we’ll bend

                                        and worship You, and pour our love

                                   upon Your pierced feet,

                    that knew such pain yet shifted not

                               Your purpose to complete.

 

          Perhaps like Lazarus of old,

                this pain is not for naught,

                      But that your glory we’d behold

                                  and praise you as we ought.

                  So give us eyes to see beyond

                           the pain and weariness –

                                    to see Your shining, radiant joy

                                       as you we learn to bless,

 

                To keep our eyes on higher things,

                        the glories You have planned,

                                     and so accept with trusting heart

                           whate’er comes through Your hand.

 

But know that the LORD has set apart the faithful for himself;

the LORD hears when I call to him. (Psalm 4:4)

 

 

It’s sore, Lord –

        just “small talk” to her: “Are you going skiing?”

                      But a raw nerve in me is struck,

                             exposed at deepest being.

           And again the pain stabs high,

                                and so once more to you I cry

 

 

It’s hard to be the one who can’t …

          Can’t go … in case my ankle twists -

                   I don’t know, I’ve never tried,

                             but I don’t feel secure to risk …

                      There’s no-one on whom I can call

                                            to give a hand if I should fall.

 

And so it seemed wise not to go,

               and yet the battle isn’t through -

            I need to find a place of rest,

                      contented peace that comes from You,

               in being heard for who I am,

                           and joying in Your greater plan.

 

 

Here smiles are wide, but guarded too,

               a brush, a bump, and they withdraw ….

            I want to be a friend, and so

                           I open up, fling wide the door,

                   But the response is great surprise,

                             “why tell this all?” is in their eyes.

 

 

Victoria helped me understand,

             in her perceptive, caring way,

                     She said, “You share yourself at depth

                                 much sooner than most others may,

                         because you move and don’t stay long,

                                   friendship must rapidly grow strong.”

 

Only a few begin to grasp,

             how those alone have things that must

                           come out, or else the dam will burst,

                    but where is one such depths to trust?

                                    The one of small talk cannot bear,

                        she looks away, no longer there.

 

 

But you know, Lord,

            You know the pain,

                     that sense of being cut off in flight,

                               blank faces not concerned to know,

                                            not caring to “walk in the light”;

                          a heart left naked in the cold,

                                      bereft, exposed, for being bold.

 

And so I come to You my Lord,

             Whom I can trust, the Faithful One,

                      And in Your Word, You whisper love

                                    that sets my heart to skip and run,

                             the truth that comes as ever new –

                                           “You have set me apart for You”.

 

What depth of riches here to tell:

             I’m Yours, You’re mine, and all is well,

           Nothing I lack, my Shepherd-King

                           holds me secure, and I can sing.

                  For when the heart is full of pain,

                                  He turns it all to priceless gain.

                  no trophy, honoring “me”,

                                no big crowd cheering loud,

                                              no great fame for my name,

                      and such as it should be

 

                                        what good we do, and be too,

                           comes from Him, not within;

                                 He the root, we the fruit,

                                               to Him the Oscar true!

 

Snowy caps of Mount Hermon melt into pale sky,

and way below shines Kinneret, grey-blue jeweled by the sun;

across the stretched-smooth cling-wrap film, run ripples laughing by,

crinkling the sheet of water wide, they toss their heads and run,

 

then silver shadows fold the hills in early morning light,

and marble streaks of pearly grey caress with streaks of sun

the little town of Kfar Nahum, she straddles on the height,

and turtle-doves coo plaintive calls, their greeting one to one

 

I sit and marvel at the sight – these hills, where Jesus taught,

these waters where he walked and sailed, and maybe swam for fun -

right here He lived, the very God, and such a message brought

that in my heart He now can live, the great eternal One.

 

The tears have come, I’m cleansed and crushed –
like sweet grass after rain –
My heart is singing now with light
born out of piercing pain.

At thirty hopes seem fading fast,
I walk while others run,
The things they grasp at any cost,
I wait, and thus I’m one.

Ten candles more, new tears to shed,
other dreams must rest,
This womb will not burst forth with life,
so leave His good for best.

But through the sobs His voice comes still
and clear, to soothe the sore,
To pleasure Him is why I’m here,
to honour Him in all.

This I can do – just as I am –
if each day I would seek
His fellowship in all I do,
His strength where I am weak.

So may I live today alone,
with this my constant aim –
to bring Him joy in all I do,
and honour to His Name.

just a swim, like other days,
back and forth through azure blue,

and then breaks forth a wonder-maze
of coral castles; with them too
a flash of colour, darting bright
between the tendrils delicate,
their chisseled features catch the light
and in and out the Angels flit,
and there below float fins of lace
the Fire Fish, with rustling skirt,
transluscent flurries waft with grace,
a wistful dance to notes unheard

a wonderland, and yet without
a mask I could not grasp the sight,
amazing beauty none can doubt
with eyes transformed, to see the light;
so too the best may pass me by
if earthly things constrain my view;
what mask would let me rise and fly?

the mask of faith,
that sees the true

Here I am again, Lord,
my knee scrunched up and sore …
and looking at five weeks ahead
of needing to give all.

Will this pain depart?
Or must I just push through,
and try and focus on the work,
while feeling rather blue?

Today we heard from James -
a word simple and clear -
that “if we suffer, we should pray”;
to You, then, I draw near.

But there’s no word to say
that suffering will end,
just “pray!”, and then it’s up to You
what You should choose to send.

Please help me, Lord, to hold
the promise You gave me,
that in the weakness of my legs,
Your strength others will see.

And please enable me
to finish my life’s race,
not losing heart, but holding firm
the beauty of Your grace.

Enabling grace, that picks me up
when weary, weak and sore,
and puts sure strength into my knees
so I can run once more,

And thus complete the work
You planned for me to do,
looking ahead to that great day,
when all will be made new!

“You will receive power … to be my martyrs … to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:

“We will have all of eternity to celebrate our victories, but we have only one hour before the sun sets to win them.” (Robert Moffatt)

Receive His power, power to die
that you a martyr be,
and then go forth, where e’er He leads,
your cry: “For Him, not me!”

My little world is small and safe –
He calls me higher, higher
to catch the eagle’s glimpse of Heaven
to pass through holy fire.

For endless years we there can joy
in victories He’s given,
But now there’s but a brief one hour
until we get to Heaven.

But one short hour to do His will
before the time of rest,
So lift your eyes, and lift your heart
and for Him do your best!

The big things keep before you now,
the others – just let go –
It matters not in this short hour
which way the winds do blow.

Whether alone or with a spouse
is but a “happening”
In all may we His goodness show
and make our hearts to sing.

To take His power, to live His life,
our own wills put to die,
And so we’ll celebrate for e’er
and reign with Him on high!