You Can’t Scratch It

There’s that one little spot that keeps on itching.

  Even reaching it just doesn’t bring relief.

My mind believes that I’ll go crazy without scratching.

  My heart knows that it is really self-made grief.

 

The One Who Scratches is willing to relieve me.

  Yet I keep thinking that I will get it done.

I see surrender as a weakness with no quarter

  When all along He has made sure that the battle’s won.

 

I turn to ME to get solutions for that itching,

  but satisfaction is a temporary find.

I grit my teeth with a determined prideful fervor

  and find my scratching never seems to ease my mind.

 

The fruitless efforts of my nubby little fingers

  just prolongs the indefatigable pain.

I finally see the soothing lotion of the Master,

  that death to self is the beginning of true gain.

 

There is no spot that can’t be reached through my Savior.

  There is no itch that can’t be scratched when in the Word.

Why did I struggle in my own imagined power

  when all along I needed Him to be my Lord.

Summer Breeze

In Texas in July I can taste the heat

It quickens my memories of youth.

The sweet reminders of moments in a young man’s past

Show how grace can temper the truth.

The hot grainy sand of the western plains

Caused footprints to look for the shade,

And the earth slowed its turning to give me time

To find wonders from what He had made.

Hollow sounds from a thump meant the melon was ripe

Squash was yellow, tomatoes were red.

The okra pointed up as it grew day by day

And the cotton spread over its bed.

I can still feel the pop of the peas from their shells,

And taste the peaches in the homemade ice cream.

There’s a special sound with the shucking of corn

Yes, Remembrance is more than a dream.

The windows were open for the nighttime breeze;

The stars came and speckled the sky.

The wonders of God were accepted but still-

There were times that I just wondered “why?”

Contemplation of ‘things’ left me looking for more,

From the easiness of life I was torn.

Then the Zephyr of Christ breathed new life into me

On the night when again I was born.

Wisdom Road

Coming up there’s a railroad crossing

Or the left lane is closed ahead

No U-turn, Do Not Enter

Don’t turn here the end is dead.

 

Exit 70 will take you to Dallas

The construction means it’s all a mess

Must be careful ’cause the fines are doubled

Better buy a good GPS.

 

But I’m not looking for Madison Avenue

Every town has an MLK

Streets named for coaches and presidents

Even stories ’bout a lost highway.

 

And I’m not searching for ribbons of pavement

Or the widegated thoroughfare

Mass transit makes you lose direction

Where’s the narrow gate that gets you there?

 

What I really want’s a moral compass

I’m tired of kicking at a formless goad

My journey finds its redeeming value

When I’m traveling the Wisdom Road.

Scars are Beautiful

When I observe the scars on my body I tend to remember the injuries or accidents that caused them originally. When I examine my emotional or other scars I tend to want to dwell on the situation that caused the scar. What I must realize is that scars are beautiful.

Scars are signs that a miraculous thing has occurred. The ability that God gave the human body to heal itself is amazing. The injured area is normally stronger and less vulnerable than it was before the injury.

We also become emotionally and spiritually stronger through other types of upheaval, but God miraculously brings us through and makes us stronger because of it. We are definitely changed – our skin looks different and our spirits evolve, but God heals and therefore, Scars are Beautiful.

The Mercy Seat

New breath is crisp like morning air

My skin is warmed by summer’s heat

Each face I see is lit by care

Sent through my eyes by THE MERCY SEAT.

 

My heart rejoices like Siloam’s springs

When Holy God I kneel to meet

Emotions fail to explain the depth

of the amazing grace of THE MERCY SEAT.

 

The sunset’s glow seeps through my soul

A rest at night I gladly meet

But truth and grace are gifts of love

Provided by THE MERCY SEAT.

 

No reason for Your touch

No measure of Your love

No limit to Your grace

The taste of joy is on my lips

Glory to Your Name oh MERCY SEAT!

It Blooms

In the verdant valley

In the arid dessert

In the brightness of sunshine

In the darkness of starless night

It Blooms

Above the timberline in rocky crags

Beneath the shadow of giant redwoods

In winter’s fresh snowfall

In summer’s stifling heat

It Blooms

In the cry of a newborn baby

In the admiration of a child

In a mother’s smile

In a father’s correction

It Blooms

In the strong arm of a brother

In the simple trust of a sister

In the anger of an enemy

In the laughter of a friend

It Blooms

In refreshing rain

In blowing dust

At dusk as day ends

At dawn as day breaks

It Blooms

In the bird’s song

In the strummed chord

In the mind’s search

In the heart’s cry

It Blooms

In Hope

In The Truth

At the Cross

From the Tomb

In Victory

It Blooms

GRACE