Thursday, December 30, 2010



Small one, dimpled chin and cheeks
Resting on the cradled arm
Skin deep and dark from muddied paths
Eyes closed to the light of the true world
Opened to another- the light of his mind


Curled tips bouncing forth
Surprise of blue where brown lights should set
Looking at you like you're the map
To the land of aged humor and fantasy.
Her fingers create colored pages
Easily laughter catches air and flight
Toes clothed by sparkly dancers
Shoes found by fairy princesses themselves
The dimpled cheeks bear witness to
True happiness that comes in pink and purple


Cogs turning within a golden watch
Closed-in secrets of history and politics
Beneath a dimpled smile and elegance
Golden curls cascade before eyes dark in though
Never-ending road of mystery
Only Holmes would defeat, or Shakespeare create
An ending almost worthy of her Greatest Design
Envelope of linen and parchment, waxed seals
Doors open to silver keys
Light within the Darkness
She pursues the Truth until it is exhausted


Deep darkness of early morning
Door cracks, line of light, little footsteps
Encircled embrace and quickened heartbeat
Warm tiny body beside her.
Her precious name uttered quietly
Hushed and serene, beloved.


Bronze light heavy under deepened brow
Muscles trained to carry the world
Knowledge defeating paths of mystery
Inspiration found in lines of letters.
Trying to figure out his destiny
Belief in a story, he is but a character
Attempting feats with unknown strength
Tying bonds around his family no one can break
They speak of his life with care and dear
Daring windy waters, a storm of wrath
To carry all of his precious cargo to safety


Life throws her unexpected opportunities
Hidden treasure among mere chaff
A field of Pearl between those of wheat
Her story written with fingers of aged glory
Each letter leading toward depth of color
Too beautiful to express
She holds tight to the beloved strength
And carries her audience to a world of light
No laughter ceases, no tear begins
Her treasure's value lies deep within

Saturday, December 18, 2010


She kneels before the towering pile of branches, needles, and glistening apparel that screamed “Beautiful!” at the top of it's lungs. The room echoed it's silent heaves, laden with as much mirth and glee to rise a city from its knees. But to it, she does not turn an ear.

Ornaments dripping off of plastic pine with golden cord, crystalline lights shimmering eerily above the circlet of holly and red ribbon cascading at every corner. The shine of every cherub's eye and the point of every silver-studded star pierces the air, and everything is perfect.

Outside, oblivious to the green and gold and silver and stone, the salting of snow about the road- not too much to cause discomfort, but just enough to dust the world. Carolers toting semi-sweet notes, of good tidings and joy and mistletoe, their clasped gloved hands bright colored against the white backdrop of sow. Their rosy cheeks and perfect rows of teeth gaping wide to form the words only the pristine windows and snow-laden homefront are attentive enough to hear. But still she does not cast a single thought to the sight. The perfection of the scene, cast by dim lighted candles and the firelight's glow, was not by what her tears poured.

Her hands and knees ached, bend down beneath the curtain of evergreen, hands held out among the sharply wrapped presents of glorious color. Between her cupped palms stood tiny old trinkets; an old crowned man robed in gold, beside two kneeling in purple, extended hands bearing richly wrapped gifts. Three shepherds huddle opposite, upturned bearded chins holding awe and joy for the lifted angel hanging over the scene. It's wings shimmer under the worn old luster of gold paint, and his face was cracked from the many ill-kept tumbles from the tree.

A blue-wrapped maiden kneeling, eyes smiling with the little pink-painted line of mouth. Her husband's hand was laid lightly on her shoulder, their faces all turned towards the babe.

The small wood carved manger- painted straw sticking out from beneath a sleeping child, who's serene face beholds no thought to the wonderland he sits among. The towering tree, crackling fireplace, holly and the snow continue without notice to this tiny silent scene beneath it's boughs.

But she notices. Tears stream down her cheeks as her fingers tenderly touch the seemingly soft wooden cheeks of the tiny child. It was small, old, silent... broken. But it's depth of meaning weighed her heart heavier than all the majesty of her surroundings- in fact, this, instead, was her majesty. The Majesty.

The child. The shepherds. The mother. The angel.

The kings- who traveled miles and deserts following the dim point of light in the sky, certain for the Son of God at the end of their journey.

The father- who by an angel, was told to leave his country, his home, and move to Egypt, and by his faith, obeyed.

The stable- rugged, wretched, rancid... but into it's arms did the babe enter the world.

The city- by its night lights the family was turned aside, though she was griping in pain from labor... full to the brim with people who were called to their hometown to be counted by the Emperor.

The soldiers- who were ordered to witness the slaughter of hundreds of newborn children by their own hand, seeking out the single child who was named the King of the Jews.

The night- silent though it began, brought about the outpouring of such glorious chorus from the heavens that those who could hear ran in fear.

This was the majesty. This was the story. But little it stood beside the presents, wreaths, carolers and the mistletoe. But still she knelt, eyes glistening, for she knew. She knew the story. She knew the majesty. And the expressionless, voiceless trinkets held lovingly between her fingers sang a song louder than anything else in the room. For they were the Majesty of the season.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Pride, Part 1 (The Musings of a CB-er)

First of all, I want to apologize for not keeping this up-to-date lately, it's been a rough couple of weeks, and I've just not been on track. Second of all, Im BACK and in full swing. Although I missed last night's CB Biblestudy (well, CB entirely) because of a performance for the choir I am in, I will track someone down who DID attend and find out what happened from them. :) Coming soon!

As for Daniel 4 and 5, it was interesting to notice that they were essentially about the same thing; PRIDE.

Have you ever heard the saying about pride being the foundation of all sin? When we sin, we are taking control of our own life, basically saying to God "I know better than you about what I need to do in my life, I know myself better than you do, and I know what's best for me. I am King, god of my own world." Wow.

I grew up using sin as a coping method. I think, in some way or another, we have all justified our wrong actions and thoughts in order to attempt to make them alright or better than they seem. Some of us might have been lying to ourselves about "white lies" and "small sins" that are "no big deal". Realizing that sin IS a big deal, more important that I am treating it to be, and more serious to God than I am perceiving it, convicts me where it hurts. When I sin, I am telling God that I am stronger than he is, smarter than he is... Pride.

In chapter four of the book of Daniel, Pride overtakes the King Nebuchadnezzar. The Lord warns him through Daniel about the consequences that will incur if King Nebuchadnezzar does not acknowledge God as Lord. "You will be driven away from people and will live with the wild animals; you will eat grass like cattle and be drenched with the dew of heaven. Seven times will pass by for you until you acknowledge that the Most High as sovereign... The command to leave the stump of the tree with its roots means that your kingdom will be restored to you when you acknowledge that Heaven rules." (Daniel 4:27, NIV) But King Nebuchadnezzar forgets this warning, because just twelve months later, he stands on the rooftop of his palace, saying "Is not this the great Babylon I have built as the royal residence, by my mighty power and for the glory of my majesty?" Such pride!

I know I forget the truth of the words "Be still, and know that I am God." God is God, not I. This has really rung true to me in the last couple of weeks- when Im struggling with pain and perseverance, relying on God's strength seems so much more out of reach. But doing this on my own strength is telling God I am stronger than he is. Lord! Im so sorry!