Lost in a Sandstorm

Son of God,

I wake,

And fight to breathe.


My heart won’t settle.

Won’t still.

Deep inside of me a conflict wages.

I pray with my lips,

But I reach it not.


I sit,

But I’m not still.

I speak,

But have no peace.


Son of God,

I hear You speaking too,

And I know You’re here,

And working,

But the clash is so loud,

I can’t rest.


I fight to see.

I fight to breathe.

I fight to think.

And all along I wonder,

If I’m not just crazy.

If the conflict that wages within,

Is just my overactive imagination.


I try to name the enemies I wrestle with,

But still they sit on my chest like a heavy weight.

It seems to me that the tiny steps forward in You that I’ve taken,

Have stirred the sleeping hornet’s nest.


Angry thoughts sting like so many irate wasps.

Condemnation and accusation from every angle.

And my lungs paralyze,

And breathing freezes.


I try to think.

To hold on to what I know.

Deep inside of me I hear Your voice,

Calling out to me.

But it sounds small and far away.

Like a distant calling through a violent windstorm.


And Your voice is a small echo,

From a cavern somewhere in the distance.

But I’m whipped and buffeted on every side,

By this violent wind.


Dust blows in my eyes,

And it stings,

And I blink.

I try to concentrate on Your voice in the distance.

Try to find my way through the dust storm to You.


I take a step,

And my enemy kicks dust in my mouth,

And stirs the wind,

Even more.


Dazed and confused,

I fall to my knees in the hot sand.

I sputter and spit,

Trying to expel the dust and ashes from my mouth.

I will not feast on them.


Eyes stinging,

Throat scratched and parched,

Mouth full of gritty sand,

I expel the polluted air from my lungs,

With all the power I have left.

And my lungs heave,

For new breath,

New air.


Yet each new breath,

Brings yet more sand,

And I choke on the particles,

As they tickle my nose and throat.


My eyes are too dry for tears.

My throat is too parched to cry out,

And I fear I will die here.

For how can help come,

If I can’t even call out?


Yet I hear You,

Calling out to me.


God who knew I was lost,

Before I did.

God who never forsakes me,

No matter how many sandstorms,

I end up in.


And I’m not sure what happened,

Or why I’m here.

The sandstorm taunts me,

Mocks me,

Makes me wonder where I am.


And I’m baffled and stunned.

Green grass turned to sand so quickly,

And who can make sense of it?


Is this an illusion?

A mirage?

A trick of heat and desert?

Am I yet in green pastures,

And by still waters,

And it’s only the sand and wind,

That block my view?


Or have I somehow wandered,

And gotten lost,

In a desert wilderness somewhere?


Have I been taken away captive?

Or am I being lied to?

Why are the swarms of thoughts in my head,

So loud?


The sand finds my weaknesses,

Slips in through the cracks,

And lodges there.

Sand in my teeth.

Sand in my eyes.

Sand in my nose.


Like a pebble in my shoe.

Small enough to slip in anywhere,

Painful enough to cause irritation and rash and pain,



And where one grain finds a way in,

So many others follow.

And the multitude,

And the hoard,

And the swarm,

Is so much worse,

Than the one was at first.


You can’t really,

Fight sand.

Try to grab it in your fist,

And it just slips through.

Try to clench it in your teeth,

And it just irritates and grinds.

Try to kick it with your feet,

And it just finds its way,

In between toes,

Underneath nails,

And inside all your open wounds.


It’s an irritating enemy,


At once substantial,

And unsubstantial.


At once there,

And also,




But fluid.

Visible in swarms,

Yet invisible alone.


Hard to see,

Hard to track,

Hard to trace,

Hard to catch.



And yet patronizing.

Substantial enough to irritate and annoy and distract,

Yet small enough to hide and mock.


An enemy at once visible,

And invisible.

And enemy at once there,

And not.


And there I am,

Knees down in the hot sand,

Spitting and blinking,

And trying to produce tears,

To wash the filth away.


Here I am,

Brought to my knees,

By an enemy at once so powerful,

And so small.

Large enough to bring me to my knees,

Yet too small to catch.


And it mocks me.


Brought to my knees,

By naught but sand.

And it’s hard to feel like a warrior,

When your enemy,

Is a speck of dirt.


From somewhere beyond the storm,

Your voice calls to me,

“Come away, child.

Come away to Me,

And find rest.”


I hear You,

And Your voice echoes in a calm,

And spacious place,

Outside of the storm.

You speak to me from the place of peace,

Of rest.


I hear,

And I crawl on hands and knees,

Toward the sound of Your voice.


But the enemy kicks the sand in my face,

And laughs.



I choke and spit.

Direction lost,

I listen again.


There You are,

The voice calling out to me.

I reorient myself,

Change my direction,

And continue my desperate clawing,

And crawling.


On hands and knees,

I flounder and thrash,

Through hot desert sand.

The unsteady substance,

Shifts and sinks underneath me.

The going is slow,

And wearisome.


So much energy expended,

Yet I’ve gone about as far,

As a stone’s throw.


I collapse,


Face down in the hot sand,

I lie.

My strength,

Utterly spent.


The sand blows around me,

And something in me detaches,

And I just take in the moment.

A spectator in my own dream.


I feel hot sand on my face,

And the hot wind that blows,

All through my hair.

I let the earth absorb my weight,

And I just,




I cry out to You.

My heart groans words,

I know not.


But all that I am,

Just reaches to You.

And beyond the words,

The honest soul,

Cries out.


I don’t even know what it’s saying.

I just groan with all the strength,

I can find.



The storm seems to subside.


The wind seems to fade,

From a raging gale,

To a gentle breeze.


Underneath me,

The sand hardens,

Back into solid ground,

And I’m lying on green grass.


Beside me,

A pool of clear blue water ripples,

Where a moment ago,

There was only sand.



I push myself up off the ground,

Hope returning strength to my limbs.


I look up,

And see blue sky.

Tufts of white fluffy clouds,

Drift lazily by.

And between patches of these,

The sun shines.


Soft and warm and bright,

But not hot,

Or scorching.

It shines in the way of a friend,

And not a foe.


I turn toward the water,

And take shaky, stumbling steps toward it.



Dazed and bewildered,

I stagger forward,

Fall to my knees,

And drink.


I rinse the sand from my mouth,

My eyes,

My nose,

My face.


I drink the cool liquid,

Down deep.

I let it reach and refresh and wash,

The deepest parts of me.


Son of God,

Who is the Living Water.

You find me in my desert weariness,

And You give Yourself to me,

To drink.


Weak and reeling,

From a conflict both unseen,

And unexpected,

I feel so,



Taken and tossed,

By something as small,

And inane,

As sand,

I hang my head in frustration,


And anger.


Yet You meet me.

On my knees in the hot sand,

You meet me.


When my mouth is too dry,

And cracked,

For words,

And my eyes are too dry,

And blind,

For tears,

You meet me.


You come to me,

When I can’t,

Seem to make it,

To where You are.


God who speaks encouragement to my terrified heart,

When I am too stubborn,

And too stuck,

To breathe.


I try to walk to where I hear You calling out,

And I cannot make it.

So You come to me,

And You lift me up in Your grace,

And give me strength,

To go to You.


You come and walk by my side,

As I walk to You.


It’s a mystery that baffles me,

Until I think of the Trinity,

And it makes sense.


God on the throne,

Calls out to me.

Father bids me come.


God within me,

Cries out,

To God on the throne.

And Your Spirit,

Cries out Your name,

Son of God,

When I have not the words.


Son of God,

Comes to me,

Hears His own Spirit crying out.

Son of God,

Strengthens me,

And walks with me,

To Father’s throne.


And I walk with You,

Son of God,

Even as I walk to You.

I walk with You,

My Savior,

Even as I walk toward the worship of You,

My Lord,

And King.


And You are the One,

Who helps me,

To worship You.



Son of God,

I am the weak one,

Who chokes on sand.

The one who soars high on mountains with You,

And wobbles on trembling legs,

And trips over her own cleft feet,

In the valleys and the crevices.


I am the one,

Who breaks when the first stone,

Is thrown.


I am the one who falters and fears,

When the arrow hits,

Even someone who is not,



Fiery darts that pierce others,

Somehow pierce me too.

And the pierced one,

Turns and breathes their fire out on me too,

And I wilt,

Under the slightest strain.


Son of God,

I am truly a weak thing.

And anytime I try to stand on my own two feet,

Try to stand my ground,

In my own name,

I fall.

And I fall hard.


I try to stand on what You’ve spoken,

But my eyes are on the waves,

And not on You.


And when I’m staring at the waves,

Your voice seems so far away,

And small.


When I’m breathing in the sand,

I cannot see,

The Living water.


I try to drink deep,

But the sand still fills my mouth,

And the whole thing turns,

To mud.


But You are the Living Water,

And the Living God,

Who washes me clean.


You are the Living God,

Who never leaves me or forsakes me.

And though I stumble,

And close my eyes,

And think myself in darkness,

Yet You grab my outstretched hand,

Open my eyes,

And make me to know,

That I still feast on grace.


Son of God,

I know it,

As my fingers find keys here,

In daylight.

We wage more of a war than we know.


And so much,

That I have feasted on,

For so many years,

And so much,

That is being thrown at me now,

Is rotten fruit.


Poisonous lies,

Like so many fiery arrows.

So many accusations,

And condemnations,

And guilt and pride,

Focused on me.


But I know it,

In the back of my heart I’m learning it,

That the way of life,

Is found in Your name.


And the anchor for my soul,

Is the worship of You.

Is the gospel.

And the salvation of my soul,

Is the confessing of it.


And the sandstorm,

Tries with all its might,

To blind me from the truth of the gospel.

Tries to create just enough confusion and grain,

To block the clear image from my mind.

To keep my remembrance,



And the sandstorm,

Doesn’t want me to see,

Or understand,

Your truth and grace.

And if it can keep me from the truth of the gospel,

And Your riches here,

It will think itself a winner.


For without Your gospel,

There is no peace,

There is no joy,

There is no life.


Without the gospel,

There is no fellowship,

There is no forgiveness,

There is no hope.


But the gospel changes everything.


And the minute my soul drinks from the gospel oasis,

The sandstorm dies,

And the world is green and lush,

Once more.


Son of God,

Anytime the sandstorm arises,

My eyes are on me.

All that I am,

And all that I’m not.

And the swirl of it all,

Drives me mad.


Many a soul,

Has been driven mad,

By the sandstorm of self.


Many a soul,

Wanders in the desert still,

When they might drink,

Of the rivers of living water,

And dwell,

In the lush pastures,

Of abundant life.


Son of God,

I will confess Your name.

You are all that I am not,

But want to be.


You are all that I am not,

For me.


Son of God,

I confess it out loud,

To the sand and the darkness and the wind.

I confess it out into the light,

I step out and make myself known.

I confess it,

You know my naked heart.


Son of God,

I confess it,

You know who I am.

You see the motives of my heart,

Laid bare.


Beneath the sandstorm,

You know what blows,

And breathes here.


You see,

You understand,

You know.


Son of God,

You know me through and through.

You understand,

These which in my heart,

Are only riddles to me.


But I am not a riddle to You.

You search,

You see,

You understand,

You know.


Son of God,

I confess it,

Who You are is greater,

Than all my weaknesses,

And frailties here.


You are greater than my sin,

And any struggles I face.

You are greater than my weakness,

And the way I so easily,



God Almighty,

Who purposely chose,

The weak and foolish things.

And I confess,

These things are me.


You are God who knew me,

Before my birth.

And You are God who chose me,

Before I yet had a name.


You gave me a name.

You gave me Yours.

And I was a child of sin,

But You gave me Your own name,

And made me Yours.


My God and Father,

I confess it.

Spit the words back into the four winds,

And defy the lies of the sand.


I am Yours,

And Your own Spirit strengthens me,

To confess it.

I can’t even speak the words,

But that You fill my lungs with air,

And give me Your song to sing.


I have been given the song of the kingdom,

To sing.



The stumbling,



Fool of a thing.

You give me Your song,

To sing.


And God,

The only place I live,

Is in the place,

Of singing Your song.



The sinner,

Living in the cold and broken world,

You come to me,

And give me Your song to sing.


And immediately,

The world is transformed,

And the kingdom is here,

And I am clothed in robes of righteousness,

And the ugly flesh,

Is made beautiful.


I look at myself,

Reflected in the rivers of living water,

That flow through Your kingdom,

And I marvel that this beauty,

Could be the same person,

As me.


I marvel at You,

Who can bring life out of death,

And beauty out of ugliness,

And good out of evil.


Son of God who clothes my naked soul in righteousness,

I look at my soul in Your kingdom,

And I scarcely recognize it.

But it bears so much good fruit,

How could it yet be mine?


God Almighty,

Who can grow trees of righteousness,

In what for generations,

Has been naught but rock-hard soil.


Nothing is impossible for You.


You take what was dead,

And You make it alive.

You bring water from rocks,

And bread from heaven,

And You bring forth fruit,

Where there were only thorns and thistles.


I falter and stumble,

But Your hand never wavers.

You strengthen my heart,

And You make me to stand.


Son of God,

You make me the fragrance of You,

And my life smells of Your name,

To the Father.


O, Son of God,

I would linger here,

Dwelling in the truth,

Of this!


I would linger in this place,

Of meditating on Your gospel,

And confessing it aloud,

And finding fellowship with You here.


O, Son of God,

Banish all lesser thoughts!

And all thoughts of pride,

And of self,

And of guilt,

Prune away, Father.


Thank You, my God,

That You are working,

To create righteousness in me.

Thank You that You are doing,

A good work in me here.

Thank You that You are good,

And You are doing good things,

And You will finish,

What You have begun.


Thank You that I will be,

The fragrance of Christ,

And the testimony of His name,

And I will be Your glory to You,



Thank You that my life,

Is a trophy of Your grace.

Thank You that my soul,

Is a trophy of Your gospel.


Son of God,

I thank You for You.

And I thank You for You in me.

I thank You for who You are,

And for giving Yourself,

To me.


And I thank You that You are in me,

And You have sealed me with Your name,

And Your Spirit,

And I am Yours,

And You are doing good and grace and gospel things,

In me.


I thank You for this.

I rejoice in grace here.

I drink from the oasis,

And the whole world,

Is green grass,

And living waters.


For any place with Your presence,

Is abundant life.



Lord of the Harvest

Son of God,

Another day begins,

And the world of possibilities spans out before me,

And I’m restless with it.


Outside my window,

The world is filled with shades,

Of both dark,

And light.


And the way the clouds brood,

Always makes my hair stand on end.

The air tinged with mystery,

And anticipation.


Rain that You will send on the earth.

Storm from Your own storehouse.

Clouds and thick darkness surround You,

As You come,

To bring water on the earth.


God who comes,

And sends His rain down,

To water the crops,

And to cause the earth,

To yield her growth.


You are God,

Who makes the ground to yield.

You are God,

Who causes to grow,

That which we,

Have planted and worked.


God Almighty,

I think of that,

As my head spins with excitement,

And wonder,

At the multitude of plans and potentialities,

Swirling through my mind.


What could be,

Excites me.

What will be,

Is up to Your hand.


And even in the midst,

Of working to tend my own garden,

I feel You working deep in me,

Breaking up my heart’s fallow ground,

And planting righteousness,

Deep in me.


And as I water my own crops,

With many tears,

And much sweat,

I know that it is You who works within me,

To will and to work,

For that which is Your good pleasure.


And as I labor,

And wrestle with my own heart,

And plans,

I know that it is You,

Who is bringing forth a crop,

In me.


And You use the trials,

Of loss and shattered dreams,

To break up the ground in my heart,

Grown cold and hard,

Through pride and arrogance,

And laziness of the deadliest sort.

Laziness with holiness.

Laziness with hearts.


And You bring the storms of adversity,

To purge tears from eyes,

Too long dry.

And Your thunder and lightning,

Light up my soul.

And the breaking of my arrogant heart,

Brings forth rain.


God alone who gives,

The gift of repentance.

God alone who works,

To bring humility and holiness,

To the heart.


And as the knees touch the earth,

And the tears flow like salty streams,

I feel it.

The burst of growth within me,

I feel it.


And I know,

The earth has begun to yield her crop.

The heart has begun to sprout its growth.


Tender thing growing up within me,

I feel it.

I gaze upon it with wonder,

And I guard it jealously.


For this is the precious gift of life,

From the Most High God.

And may nothing dare try,

To take it from me.


I watch for the enemy,

For I know he will try,

To crush the tender thing where it stands.


And haven’t I let him before?

It’s not long before weeds and thorns,

Spring up.

And it doesn’t take much,

To stifle the holiness.

One wild weed,

Is all it takes.


How grateful I am, Lord,

That You do not leave my soul untended.

How grateful I am,

That You do not willingly surrender me,

To the weeds.


But You fight for my soul.

God who has redeemed me,

You keep watch over my soul.


And You discipline me,

And prune me,

And weed my heart,

Of thorns and thistles.


You work holiness down deep.

You plant righteousness,

In the secret heart.

And You watchfully tend it,

And make it grow.


And You are making me,

A tree of righteousness,

Fit for the courts of my God.

With roots that grow deep,

And a heart that grows strong,

You plant me,

And make me grow.


The kingdom of God,

Is such as this.

The tiniest seed,

That grows into,

The tallest and strongest of trees.


And the birds of the air come,

And make their home,

Among the branches.


God Almighty,

You are God,

Who causes all growth.

And the land only yields,

Because You want it to.


You are God Almighty,

Who can bring forth as much,

Or as little,

As He chooses.

Even from the smallest,

Of seeds.


And You work in me,

To tend the garden,

As You will it to be tended.

And what grows here,

Will be exactly what You,

Desire to grow.


Whether it yields thirty-fold,

Or sixty-fold,

Or a hundred-fold,

Is up to You.


God who gives talents and crops,

In varying degrees and measures,

For His purposes.


And a small yield,

Is still a holy yield.

And it’s only those who are faithful in little,

Who can ever be faithful in much.

Whether in this world,

Or the one to come.




Son of God,

I ponder all these things,

And the way You give all growth,

And increase.

And how all the good we feast on,

Is food from Your own hand.


And it’s all You,

From first to last.

And You do all things well.

It’s all,


And I am amazed.


And everyplace I go today,

You are there.

And every tender shoot of growth I touch today,

Is fruit from Your hand.


And I walk,

In tender fields of green.

Tender spouts,

Growing up everywhere.

And I know,

You have been here.


And as I walk these fields,

I can look up,

And know,

That You are here,

And watching over all Your growth,




God Almighty,

As I walk Your fields,

As I touch Your growth,

In human souls,

Let me tremble at the beauty,

And the holy,

And the mystery,



Let me know that I walk on holy ground,

For the Lord of the harvest,

Has done this.

And the Lord of the harvest,

Stands here still.


And He is preparing His crops,

His field,

His vineyard,

For His harvest.



Son of God,

There is so much more,

I could write about You.

There is so much more,

That rings in my head,

Like a reverie,

And a revelry.


Yet the mystery of this,

Is what grabs the fingers of my soul,

And this is where I write,

And dig.


And there is holy mystery here.

And it is not to be taken lightly,

Or passed over.


O, but let me dig my hands in deep,

Feel the soil beneath my fingertips,

And linger here with You,

In Your field, O God.



Son of God,

And the Lord of Your Church.

Lord of the harvest.

Lord of the growth.


O, let us bow in humble reverence before You!

Before the Son of God,

The Lord of the harvest who reigns here.


And the Almighty God,

And Father,

Who tends the field of His Son,

Like a watchful gardener.

Like the interested and invested owner,

Of a precious vineyard.


God who tends with tenderness,

And tenacity.

God who prunes and weeds,

And breaks,

And grows.


All glory belongs to You,

O, Lord.

For though we work,

With our own hands here,

The growth and the effort,

Is Yours,

From first to last.


The Air is Thick With the Most High God

You are God Almighty,

Who fills the world with grace.

And all that we feast on,

Is grace undeserved.


You are God Almighty,

Who makes His sun to rise,

On the evil,

And on the good.


And You are God who causes rain to fall,

On the just,

And the unjust.


God who has compassion,

On all that He has made.

God who sends grace down,

Even on those,

Who hate His name.



Your greatness is unsearchable.

The depths of Your glory,

Are unfathomable.

And so our praise,

Has no end.


For if we were to praise You,

From morning to evening,

And everyday for eternity,

Our praise would still not reach far enough.


We would have only but praised the surface,

Of the God,

Who is oceans deep.


You are God who feeds us all,

From Your open hand.

And there is not one living thing on earth,

That does not get its food,

From You.


You open Your hand,

And satisfy the desires,

Of every living thing.

And everything that lives today,

Lives because You feed it,

From Your own hand.



God who owns the cattle,

On a thousand hills.

God who owns each blade of grass,

Each ray of sun,

Each atom of oxygen.


And who gives them,


To us.


Every breath we take,

Every bit of food we chew,

Is a gift,

Given from Your own hand.


And every moment we live,

We are the creatures bent low,

And taking our life,

From Your own cupped hands.



I think about that.

About how intimate,

This living thing,

Really is.


And I think about how,

You are the Giver of each breath.

And You control the tiniest details,

Of life.

And how much more,

The great ones?



God who reigns sovereign,

Over kings and rulers and princes.

God who reigns sovereign,

Over nations.

God who ordains when they rise,

And when they fall.


God who ordains the times and seasons of men,

And the places,

Of their habitations.


God who makes men,

Hearing or deaf,

Seeing or blind.


God who sculpts and plans and crafts,

According to Your sovereign will.

God who does all this,

And who can argue with You?


Who can see the depths,

Of Your wisdom?

Who can read the ripples,

Of all that You are doing?

The praises that echo,

For all eternity?


O, God who does all things flawlessly,

From beginning to end!

You do all things well,

And I am amazed at You.


God who reigns,

Over all of my life,

God who has brought times of plenty,

As well as times of adversity.


God who has brought struggles,

That have brought many violent tears.

From this place on my knees,

I confess it,

You do all things well.


All that You have done,

You have done well.

All that You have given,

Has been good.


And the fruit that has been born,

In my heart through the breaking up,

Of the fallow ground,


All the righteousness,

And deep communion with You,

That has sprung up,

In the tender place in my heart,

Broken open,

And watered with tears,


It is so beautiful,

And so holy,

And so worth,

All the trials that brought me here.



I thank You for the desperation,

That has made me desperate for You.

I thank You for the place of need,

That has made me cling to You,

Until You brought forth living water,

From this trial that I thought,

Was just a rock.


I thank You for these stones in my hand,

That were really all along,

Good bread.


Thank You for turning the trial,

Into a treasure chest.

For turning the painful,

Into fountains of praise,

Flowing with Your fellowship,

Living Water.


Thank You for the good gifts,

That come wrapped,

In the hard things.

Thank You for the hard things,

That are really,

The best kind of grace.


Thank You for the beautiful work,

That You do in a heart,

Through the trials,

We would never choose.


Thank You for the loss,

That has made me tender.

Thank You for the devastation,

That has broken me,

And brought only my pride,

To its knees.


But my spirit,

Has risen up out of the ashes,

And the death,

Was really all along,

A gift of resurrection life.


Thank You for the shattered dreams,

And the closed doors,

And the painful tears.


Thank You for the wilderness,

That has left me alone,

To find the sacred place,

With You.


Thank You for the desperation,

That gave me strength,

To climb the mountain,

That leads to Your holy place.


Thank You for taking,

Everything but Yourself,

From me.


And yet really,

Taking nothing at all,

From me.


For in the broken open loss,

Stubborn pride dies,

This thick and stubborn weed.

And with the death of pride,

So much beautiful in my life,

That has been here all along,



And in the loss,

I gain.

And in the death,

I live.


And its a paradox,

Only You could make true.

And it’s really amazing,

How when I really feel like I’m dying,

That’s the time,

When Your resurrection life,

Is really growing the most alive,

In me.



God who gives trial and adversity,

And it is a gift of the most peculiar sort.

And I don’t know it’s a gift,

Until the moment when I’m in tears on my knees,

And the words of praise come out of my mouth.


And when I find my own heart,

Uttering the deepest things,

Deepest holiness,

That could only be from You.


Those moments,

When the prayer that I’m praying,

Astounds even me.

And I know it’s only,

You alive in me.


That’s when I tremble.

That’s when I get it.

When I realize just what it is,

That You’ve been doing here all along.


And all those tears,

And all that tearing of the soul,

And all those heart-wrenching groanings,

And struggles that none,

But You could see,


All these many battles,

And all these many crying outs,

Are suddenly,

Not for naught.


But the unseen,

Speaks a tangible reality.

And the violent struggles of mind and heart and soul,

Matter more than any physical combat,

Ever could.


And in those moments,

I know.

That heaven records,

The battles waged,

In the heart of man.


And in those moments I know,

That the tiniest decisions,

That the heart makes for You,

And the tiniest struggles,

That the heart makes to cling to You,

They matter.


And holiness,

Is warfare.

And righteousness,

Is a gift of grace,

But the feasting on it,

Is a violent struggle,

Against all kinds of sin.


Yet even this struggle,

Is itself,


And these trials that You send,

To wrestle flesh,

And grow communion,

Down deep,

They are gifts of grace,

Of the highest sort.


And I think it might be true of many Americans,

And I know it’s true of me,

That my heart is so stubborn and gluttonous and thick and numb,

That I need the trials,

To shock me awake,

And to make me raw enough,

To really live.


And the trials that I don’t want,

Are the biggest blessings to me.

Because the biggest enemy to me,

Is my own stubborn selfishness.


And the trials that rock me,

And make me tender and pliable,

And that birth humility and righteousness in me,

Are the biggest gifts,

That I can’t give myself.


And no discipline,

At the moment seems pleasant,

But rather painful.

But when it is complete,

It produces the peaceful fruit,

Of righteousness,

To those who have been trained by it.


And it’s worth it.

It’s so worth it.

No matter what I may say,

While I’m yet in the throes of it.


And through this discipline,

And this deep birthing of righteousness,

I join the ranks,

Of the great cloud of witnesses,

That have gone before.


And I walk the path of grace,

Where they themselves have walked.

These of whom the world was not worthy,

I follow in their footsteps,

In even this,

The very smallest,

Of ways.


Yet there’s a kinship,

And a fellowship,

In the walking here.


And I understand,

And taste,

Just a little bit,

Of what it is,

They saw and felt and meant.


And in the deep place,

Past the struggle,

And the breaking,

And the watering of tears,


In that place of righteousness,

This tender green growth,

Where the soul has been broken open,

There is fellowship,

With the Most High God.

Through the fellowship of the Son of God,

Who lives here.


And in the depths of the righteous place,

There is the fellowship,

Of the Living Son of God.

And it is the tenderest,

And most beautiful thing,

I have ever known.


And I am ruined,

For all lesser things,

Because I have known You,

Son of God.


There is no satisfaction,

A husband could ever give me,

That even comes close,

To the satisfaction,

Of knowing You.


You fill my soul,

And flood my senses,

And my whole being,

From soul out to fingertips,

Knows what it is,

To be fully alive.


You are the satisfaction,

Of all my dreams.

You are the highest thing,

My mind can ever know.

And when I am in the place of fellowshiping with You,

I have reached the peak,

Of what it is,

To exist.


And my life now,

Is just a constant chasing after,

This that I have tasted and seen.


It is a constant venture,

To follow.

To fellowship.

To stay in the place,

Of knowing You.


I have found,

All that I am looking for in this life.

I can say that truly.


I have found,

Everything that I ever wanted to find.

And now I only live,

To taste and know,

You more.


I wrestle,

To stay in the place,

Of resting in You,

And not wanting,

Any lesser thing.


Because my soul only knows perfect peace,

When all of my heart’s mind and faculties,

Are bent on feasting on You.


And the greatest rest,

Is the fellowship with You.

And I will follow You anywhere,

And obey anything,

Just to stay in that place,

Of knowing You.

And this,

By Your grace,



And that’s really,

The only way obedience,

Really works anyway.

And that’s really,

The way You intended it to be,

All along.


Obedience becomes a joy,

When it becomes a means,

To greater fellowship,

With You.


And here again,

I see it true.

How fellowship with You,

Is everything.


It’s everything we’ve always been looking for,

And so much more.

It’s the answer to everything.

And it’s right here,

And right now.


And the only fight,

Worth fighting,

Is the fight,

To feast,

On more of Your fellowship.


I have tasted.

And I have seen.

And I will die,

On this hill.


Because I’ve found the truth.

And I’ve found the treasure.

And anything less than this,

Is death to me.


And God,

By Your grace,

Keep me here,

In the feasting on the fellowship,

Of You.


And bring whatever trials,

And whatever encouragement,

And whatever correction,

I need,

To break me,

And bend me,

And bring me back,

To the place of communion,

With You.


Highest Holy One,

And the High King of Heaven,

Keep me broken and contrite,

And humble,

And full of the holiest joy,

In the feasting on the fellowship,

Of You.


O, Son of God,

I feast on Your fellowship,

I confess Your name,

I sing praise and worship to You,

And nothing is impossible.

And the whole world is holy,

And full of more and more and more of You.


And I can go anywhere,

And do anything.

And Your presence here,

Is working a miracle,

That I can scarcely fathom,

Or conceive.


Holiest King,

Your kingdom flows through here,

A glorious and beautiful and boundless thing.

And I can fly,

Soaring high on the wings of You.

I have Your fellowship!

And I want for nothing.


O, Holy King,

My life is a holy and beautiful thing!

And every life that breathes around me,

Is a miracle.

And every place I see here,

And every place my soul soars,

And my foot steps,

Is holy ground.


You flood the soul,

And the heart breaks for joy.

And the eyes flood with tears,

Of worship.


Holy One,

Son of God,

You are so much better than we know.


And the knowing of You,

Is far greater,

And far better,

And far wiser,

Than any words,

I could ever say.

And anything,

I could ever create.


My life is holy.

This moment is on fire,

With the glory of You.

Every moment tinged with holiness,

And wonder.


God who feeds every living thing,

With grace from His own hand,

Right now.

The air is thick with Your presence.


Son of God who holds the world together,

By the power of Your word.

Son of God who feeds Your children,

With the broken bread,

Of Your own body.


And we enter in,

To the Holy of Holies.

And we behold the Most High,

And we die not.


Covered in the blood of the Lamb,

We enter in,

And we are counted,

As clean,



And pure.



Son of God,

I ponder these things.

And I could sing of Your love,



My soul explodes with the wonder,

And the mystery,

And the joy,

Of communion with You.


Holy God,

Who fills all the world.

We feast from Your own hand.

And we are so unworthy,

Of Your face here,

And all the grace,

That You give.



And humbled,

We feast on grace undeserved.

And we offer all we know in return.


We lift up souls,

And we sing with our voices,

And with all that is us,

We cry,

Holy, holy, holy.


Folly of the Fearless


Son of God,

My advocate before the Father’s throne.

And You are the one,

I stand here before.


Most High God,

Creator of the ends of the earth,

Lord Almighty,

Above whom,

There is none other.


You know me.

And You see me even now,

And You are known to me,

As Father.



You are Almighty God.

And my fellowship,

Is with You.

With the Father,

And the Son.



God Almighty,

Has come,

And made His home in me.

And God Almighty,

Has brought me into His presence,

And made Himself,

My home.


I confess the words,

And the spinning world,


I confess the words,

And heaven,

Doesn’t feel so far.


I confess the words,

And the things of this world,


And dim.


I confess eternity with my lips,

And the trials of this earthly life,

Seem small and silly,



A passing shadow.

A story already written,

And told.


I think about that sometimes,

How neat and tidy the stories,

Of the patriarchs seem,

From our vantage point.

Black and white type,

On gilt-edged pages.


Clear beginning,


And end.


And I think about,

How heaven records our stories.

And I think about what it’s all going to read like,

When it’s all said and done.


And I think about how,

What is still yet unfolding to us,

And what seems so chaotic,

And circular,

And happenstance,

Is really already written,

In heaven.


And I think about how heaven knows it,

And will declare it for all eternity,

The beginning,


And end.


And I think about how we’re really on a journey,

Part of Your larger plan.

And we’re all going to end up at the end of the road,

And stand before Your throne.

This, the place where the one road of time,

And history,

Really leads.


And everyone will end up here,


And every face will see Yours,

And every knee will bow before Your glory,

Before You as You sit,

On Your throne.


And every tongue,

Will confess the truth.

That You are Lord,

And the Beginning,

And End,

Of all things.


One day,

Every tongue will confess it.

But we don’t have to wait for the one day,

To be surprised before the throne.


But we can confess it,

And know it now,

That You are Lord.

The beginning,

And the middle,

And the end,

Of all things.


And we’re living in the middle,

Where reality,

Is hidden and blurred,

By so many lies,

And so much noise.


And we live in a world,

Overrun by thorns and thistles.

And well I know it.

Soul feels them everyday pricking and pulling,

Trying to poke and choke,

And puncture lungs,

And strangle hope,

Right out of the chest.


This world will do just about anything,

To keep us from thinking about eternity.

This world will do just about anything,

To keep our eyes on the here and now,

As if there wasn’t an eternal and sovereign God,

Reigning in heaven.


Because the ruler of this world knows,

That if we number our days,

And we live in the fear of You,

God Almighty,

We will get,

A heart of wisdom.


So the ruler of this world,

He wants to do anything he can,

To keep us from fearing You.

To keep us from the place of reverence,

And awe,

And worship.


Because if we really see You as You are,

Seated high and holy upon Your throne,

We will stop in our tracks,

And we will be stunned into worship.

And we will begin to live differently.

We will begin to live with a heart of wisdom.


Seeing You,

As You are,

Undoes the heart.

And it undoes,

So much,

Of all this backwards thinking.


One glance at You,

And so much of this world,

Falls away,



One glimpse of You,

And our hands empty of treasures here,

And lift high in worship,

Empty hands reaching up for the full treasure,

Of heaven.


One glimpse of You,

And all these world’s treasures,

Seem silly.

Cheap trinkets,

And candy-coated lies.

Heaps of dung,

With a gold coating.


And that’s really all these worldly treasures are.

Just gold-crusted heaps of dung.


And the way we fight over them,

Wrestle others to the ground over them,

You’d think we were a bunch of animals,

Gone mad.


Ah, but You,

You are the pearl of great price.

You are the treasure of heaven.


You are gold that never tarnishes,

And jewels that shine with brilliance,

And shades of color,

That human eyes,

Can’t even see.


You are a feast that satisfies,

And never ends.

You are joy,

Untainted by disappointment,

Or sorrow,

Or loss.


For You are hope fulfilled,

And fullness realized,

And perfection,


And beyond.


You are eternal glory,

And fields of glory and grace,

We run in forever,

And never reach the other side.


You are limitless pasture,

And bottomless expanse.

We plumb the depths of Your treasures forever,

And never reach the end.


We never even go,

Beyond the surface,

Though we dig and plunge,

For thousands of years.



O, God of brilliant glory!

O, God of beauty undimmable,

And undiminished.

How can we ponder You?

How can we even begin to understand,

Who You are?


Fathomless God of the universe,

More brilliant and beautiful,

Than anything this world has ever known,

More valuable than all the wealth of creation,



Beginning and the end,

Alpha and Omega.

God who made the universe,

And who will one day,

Bring to an end,

All things,

That can be shaken.


God before whom,

Every soul will stand.

And every heart will stand naked,

Before the eyes that sear,

And the Living word that pierces,

Like a double-edged sword.


And yet we live like,

You don’t exist.



O, what fools we live like,

When we fail to number our days!

When we fail to think of eternity,

And the One who sits on the throne!


When we fail to fear You,

We live like fools.

And the fear of the Lord,

Is the only escape,

From foolishness.


And the only way,

To see the world right,

Is to see it,

From the foot of Your throne.


The only way to see it right,

Is from the end.



The only way to live the journey right,

Is to bear always in heart and mind,

The destination.

The One who got us started,

And the One whom,

We journey toward.


And really,

The only right way to live the journey,

Is backwards.

To live from the end,




And it’s really the only way that now,

Makes its proper sense.

It only makes sense,

From the throne room.


And when we don’t live from the throne room,

We stumble blind and aimless.

And the world warps in our vision.

We become the ones so nearsighted,

That we’re blind.


And we waste energy,

On stubborn uphill battles,

And pointless duels,

In defense of our honor and opinions,

While all around us the real war,

Goes unwaged.


And we leave the battlefield we’re supposed to be on,

For the sideways paths,

Of our own agendas.

And all the while we tout,

The banner of Your name.


But if Your name,

Doesn’t make us tremble,

With humility,

And worship,

Then we don’t,

Really know it.


And if the path we’re on,

Doesn’t bring us to our knees,

And doesn’t flood our mouths with confessions,

Of holy, holy, holy,

Then we’d better reexamine,

Just whose path,

We’re on.



O, God,

Your truth sobers,

And sanctifies,

And satisfies,

My soul.


I drink of it,

And I am convicted,


And cheered.


My soul realigned,

I walk straight,

Into Your glory.

And I walk into the place,

Of the Almighty God.


And I see You,

Seated high on Your throne.

And creation takes its rightful place before You,

Bowing low.


And all that You have created,

And ordered in perfect harmony,

Sings out the same song,

Holy, holy, holy.


God Almighty,

All creation sings it.

And all time and history,

Travel towards it.


And all time and people and history,

And all things created in heaven,

And on earth,

And under the earth,

Will end up here,

Before Your throne,

Crying holy.


All creation,

Will fulfill Your will.

All that is,

And ever was,

And ever will be,

Will bow before Your throne,

To complete Your perfect plan,

At Your perfect time.


Every moment,

Is even now,

Already heading towards here.


Like rivers,

That run toward the ocean,

So all creation,

Runs headlong,

Into You,

The beginning,

And the end,

And the middle,

Of all things.


I ponder You,

As the end of my day,

Has come.


You who were the beginning,

And the middle,

And the end of this day.

God of all my life.


Giver of every breath.

Author of every moment.

And God who will one day,

End my life,

And take me home.


God who knew me,

Planned me,

And called me,

Before my birth.


God who holds me now,

In Himself.

Jesus, Son of God,

Who is the living gospel to me.



And God Almighty,

Who right now knows,

My final day,

And the end of my days,

Here on earth.


God who will one day,

Call me home.

And I will stand before Your throne.


And this heart that stands naked and exposed to You,

To whom I will one day give an account of my life,

Will yet stand before You,

Clothed in righteousness,

And covered in blood.


In that moment,

When the God of heaven,

Stands unbridled before me,

In the throne room of heaven,

In that moment,

When my fate,

Is at last to be revealed,

It is then that I will face You,

Clothed in the righteousness of Christ,

My heart covered,

In the blood of the Lamb.


And in that moment,

I don’t even have to plead the blood,

For the blood pleads for me.

And You know me,

And You welcome me in.

And Your love and acceptance,

Flows like a river.


God who delivers me,

Because He delights in me.

God who delights to save me,

Simply because,

He delights to.


And I don’t understand it,

But here I stand,

Before the blazing brilliance,

Of the Sovereign God of the universe,

And I am not consumed,

Or condemned,

But accepted,

And glorified.

And I am counted as one,



And such is my sure hope.

That when I stand in the throne room of heaven,

And the righteous God of heaven looks at me,

He will welcome me in,

As a justified and glorified,

Pure and spotless and guiltless daughter of God,



I ponder that,

As I prepare to drift off,

To sleep.

And the audacity of this inheritance,

Stuns me.

That I should claim all this,

Is frightening.


Yet it is the sure hope,

That You Yourself,

Have written,

And that,

In Your own blood.


Righteous, Holy One!

One day,

I will see Your face!


And You will know me!

And I will actually tremble,

In Your very presence.



Holy One,

You are the God,

That I know now.


You are the God,

Who has made His home in me.

You are the God,

Who invites me in,

To fellowship with You.


And I don’t have to wait,

For the end of my days,

To know the God,

Whom I will one day,



But I can stand before Your face,

Right now.

I can come into the communing place,

Right now.

I can come into the throne room,

Right now.


O, God whose glory,

Stuns creation,

And compels it to sing,

Holy, holy, holy!


O, God whose wrath,

Makes creation want to flee,

And hide its face,

From Yours!


O, God whose gospel,

Is the most beautiful thing,

Ever conceived,

Or written!


God who gives grace,

For no reason,

But that You choose.

God who pours mercy,

Like water upon our souls,

And the fruit of the kingdom,

Grows here.


God of brilliance!

God of wonder!

God of might!

God of mercy!


God of glory,

And of grace,

And goodness,

And greatness,



Teach us to fear You,

And cease being foolish.

Teach us to number our days,

And so get,

A heart of wisdom.


Only The Living God

You are God Almighty,

Who sets the world ablaze with holy.

And trembling before You I bow here,

And confess it,

You are the Living God.


Tears flow from my eyes like rivers,

As You pierce my soul straight through.

And I’m convicted of how lightly,

I have esteemed Your name.


I stand before You,

Living God.

And O, how that thought,

Should always make me tremble!


And yet as You blaze here,

My own ignorance and insolence,

Betrays me.

And I am convicted,

And contrite.


Living God,

I confess it,

There is nothing I desire,

Besides Thee.


And yet it takes the breaking of my heart,

To know it.

It takes the breaking of all my foolish pride,

And stubbornness.


And I’m pierced through,

And all the filth of my soul,

Flows out of my eyes.

And in the weeping,

I am cleansed.


As I weep,

The guilt and the shame and the ugly,

Flows out of me.

And the blood of the Son,

Floods in to take its place.


And in this place of the broken open soul,

There is unbroken communion.

And for the first time in how long, Lord,

I feast.


For the first time in too long,

My soul feels this perfect peace,

That I had lost.

And in the broken place,

All the pride and stubbornness,

Erected like so many walls,

Are torn down.


And the tender places of my soul,

Are again open to You.

And the fellowship is not held off by walls,

But my whole soul,

Is known to You.


Living God,

Who breaks open stubborn hearts,

And brings low the arrogant and proud,

But who lifts up the humble,

And brings the small and contrite,

Into Your courts to dwell.



You are God Almighty,

And You make donkeys to speak,

And turn speaking men,



You are God Almighty who gives the gift of speech,

And takes it away.

You are God who turns the foolish,

Into the wise,

And who takes those supposedly wise,

And turns them to fools.


You are God who does this.

And no hand can reign against You.

And no man can counsel You.


You are God alone,

Who raises men up,

And tears them down.

You are God alone.

You are God who gives,

And takes away.


You are the Living God.

And this thought alone,

Should stop me in my tracks,

And fill my heart,

With trembling worship.


And if ever it doesn’t,

Dear Lord,

I have erred.

And I have made my heart,

Hard against You.



And if ever Your name,

Doesn’t make me want to fall to my knees,

And worship,

I have strayed.

And my heart beats,

After my own idolatry.


O, Lord,

My God,

How quickly do I erect idols in my life!

And how jealously I guard them,

With stubborn denial!


How quickly do I love,

Things other than Your face!

How quickly can my stubbornness,

Invade that place of pure grace,

And turn the heart from worship of You,

To worship of me.


Of my dreams,

And my will,

And my name.



And the one thing I can want,

That is pure,

And the one place I can go,

And sin not,

Is the place,

Of fellowship with You.


For You are God Almighty,

And there is no darkness in You.

But You are perfect light.


And to abide with You in the place of fellowship,

Of intimacy,

And the soul securely bonded,

To You,

Is to abide,

In perfect light.


And I can’t be bonded to light,

And walk in darkness.

I can’t fellowship with righteousness,

And live unrighteousness.


But Your fellowship is the one place,

On this whole earth,

Where I am safe,

From sin.



And when I dwell,

In the fellowship place with You,

I have fellowship with my brothers and sisters,

In Christ.


In the place of fellowship with You,

There is fellowship with each other.

And if we have not fellowship with one another,

Then the cause of our disconnect,

Is that we have not fellowship with You.



You pierce me through,

With the fellowship place,

And I am grieved,

By what I have forsaken.


I am grieved,

When I remember You here.

For I remember now,

How beautiful,

And perfect,

This place is.


And I remember,

How it is the place of fellowship,

And no sin.

And I am grieved at how,

I have forsaken it.


I am grieved by how much time,

And sorrow,

I have wasted.


Yet I am warmed,

Through and through,

In the coming home.


And I am home.

My soul wants for nothing.

For I am once again here,

Dwelling with You,

Living God,

In fellowship.


And I remember,

How this,

Has to be my everything.

And the one thing I live for,

In all things.

Your fellowship.


And if Your fellowship,

Is my one treasure,

And the one thing I endeavor to always keep,


Then everything,

Becomes a beautiful thing,

And my whole life,

Becomes a holy outflowing,

Of this holy place.


When I live unbroken fellowship with You,

My whole life becomes the kingdom.

But whenever I break that fellowship with You,

My life becomes idolatry,

And stubbornness.


And it’s true.

I know it.

I taste it.


How when Your fellowship in every moment,

Is the treasure that I seek,

Every moment becomes worship,

And holiness,

And kingdom,

And obedience is really just,



But if ever,

Something other than Your fellowship,

Is my desire,

Whether success or agenda or result,

Then the whole thing,

Becomes an idol,

And I become,

A stubborn and selfish and discontent whiny thing.


Whenever I am driven,

By something other than fellowship with You,

I am driven by the wrong thing.


And I taste that now,

How the wrong kind of fuel,

Tastes like ashes in the mouth.

Burns like acid in the belly,

And keeps me up at night.


But the fellowship of my God,

Is perfect peace.

And the fellowship of my God,

Is a flood of joy,

Even in the midst of circumstances,

Yet unfolding.


And when I live in the place of fellowship with You,

I know it like a fire in my bones,

The impossible is possible,

And the kingdom of God is reigning and moving,

Underneath my feet,

And all around.


When Your fellowship is my joy,

And the place out of which,

I live my life,

I have this overwhelming sense,

Of being swallowed up,

In something so much bigger,

Than me.


And when I live in the fellowship of You,

The throne room is my dwelling place,

And heaven is my home,

Even as my body,

Is still so far away.


Yet when I abide in Your fellowship,

I abide in the heavenly places,

And I taste the firstfruits of the kingdom,

That my life is even now,

A part of bringing.


And when I live in the place,

Of fellowship with You,

I am actually a part,

Of Your unfolding kingdom.


For when the pleasure of Your fellowship,

Is what I live for,

And what I refuse,

To live without,

Then I no longer live for me,

But I live for my King.


And when I get to heaven,

I want my life’s legacy to be,

That I lived for my King.

And I want to look back over my life,

And see the fruit of the kingdom of God,

Growing there.


I want to be a part of building Your kingdom.

I want my life to say,

That I lived for my King,

And not for myself.


And stubbornness,

It drives hard for self.

But fellowship,

It drives hard,

With all joy,

And perfect peace,

For more of You,

In all places.


O Living God,

If I want,

Anything other than Your fellowship,

I want the wrong thing.


If anything else,

Is my desire,

And my heart’s treasure,

I want the wrong thing.

No matter how good or noble a thing,

It seems.


For You have created all things,

And for Your pleasure,

They are created.

And You are the end of all things,

And for Your glory,

They exist.


And from You,

And to You,

And through You,

And for You,

Are all things.


And the only thing,

For my heart to want,

In every moment,

Is to fellowship,

With You.