Tuesday, 2 February 2016


Is it perspective or the shifting breeze
That changes the wisp of cloud imperceptibly
It's form evolving unendingly
As eyes watch from the ground far below

What forces are behind the alterations,
Undefinable but evident?
One moment something is as it seems
And the next it is not the same at all

How can being in the same place
Everyday people doing everyday things
Suddenly seem so foreign
In comparison to how it seemed yesterday?

Have we closed our eyes?
To the winds of change blowing through us
Or is our shift in position
So slight it cannot be measured or felt

One day the sun is cool lemon yellow
Brightening the trees with refreshing light
The next it is on fire
Orange blazing heat, scorching the ground beneath our feet

Dread at the start of a new day
Dragging emptiness around in our wagon
The load draining our resources
Chasing after the next big thing, or the cloak of night to cover us

Energy at the dawn of the next day
Happiness coursing through us, found in simple pleasures
Plunging into small tasks joyfully
Clasping the tail of innocence to Fly above turmoil

Are we such fickle creatures?
That a fleeting memory or slight change of position
Alters our outlook on life
Or is it a blessing to see things differently each day

Would life be easier dwelling in ignorance
Singular vision focusing on one vista?
Calm, crystal clear waters beneath
As we float along a narrow channel

Perhaps better to spin in the whirlwinds
A kaleidoscope of colors scattering images
With each movement we make

Making all around us new as each moment passes

The Master's Hand

Musical melodies chaotically combined
Sweet songs of nature's wonders
Strains of harmonies extemporaneous
flowing swirls; intoxicating me

Bouquets of invigorating fragrance
Perfumes of undefined notes
Fresh of manufactured interference
dancing sweetly; inflating me

Emerald carpets haphazardly knit
Canopies of crisscrossed branches
Lush gardens untamed by man
soothing lull; inviting me

Shots of exhilarating colors
Painting scenes of majestic brilliance
Blended at random into perfection
mesmerizing awe; igniting me

All nature bows only to the unseen hand
Coming together to beauty unrivaled
Through orchestration unseen
Created by the Master's hand.

Tuesday, 18 February 2014

The World in Constant Flux

I was sitting in a philosophy class the other day and we were debating whether the world is constant or constantly in flux. Later in the week I brought up this question with some of my friends: "Can you ever step into the same river twice? Is it actually the same river?" I will tell you, there is nothing more entertaining than breaking out an obscure question like this at a party or gathering. You definitely get some interesting looks, and some great conversation!

But the question remains, does anything in our world stay the same? Even if the river is in the same place, with the same name, is it actually the same as it was yesterday? And even if we are who we are, with the same name and identity, are we really the same as last week? Or even 5 minutes ago?

Change is constant. Even if we grasp onto our current reality in a desperate attempt to avoid change, it will inevitably come. So why do so many want to dodge change? Fear...fear of the unknown. We have the illusion of security in who we are and how our life is right now, because we are familiar with it. But if you consider who you are now in comparison to who you were a year ago, you will realize that even if you strove to keep things exactly the same, you are different. So change comes along no matter what you do to stop it. Realize that you will never be the same as you are at this moment, you will grow, and learn, and experience. Why not accept change then, and embrace the good that comes from it?

Tuesday, 22 October 2013


When the lash of angers tongue
Streaks red across my cheek
When the scorn of judgments eyes
Burn holes into my tender skin
When the backs of bitterness
Block my feet from the path
I will not be defeated, I will endure

I will turn to face forward
And embrace the angry
I will stand up straight
And smile before the judge
I will open my wings
And soar over the bitter
I will endure, I will not be defeated

I have a grace that fills my heart
I have a strength that grounds me firm
I have a freedom that gives me flight
I have a love that makes me whole
And we will not be defeated, we will endure

Tuesday, 20 August 2013


Expectations are measuring sticks of the world
They shadow our eyes from the miracles that happen every day.
They are what we assume will happen based on the past
They are what we want to happen based on our own desires

But expectations limit, based on our earthly desires
They have no vision of the infinite
If we hold to our expectations
We are limited to the scope of our own reality
By the confines of our personal experiences and knowledge
Rather than the expanse of possibility
The limitless plans of Him who has no boundaries

Let expectations free into the wind
Give up striving for others' happiness
And instead, hold your breath with expectancy
Waiting to see what amazing things will occur today
Delighting in the things that just happen

A smile from a stranger
A story that makes you spontaneously laugh from your gut
Random meetings with friends old and new
A message from a loved one just to say they are thinking of you
The meal you've prepared being cleaned off the plates
A forgotten song you love coming on the radio
A shadow sliced by a sliver of sun
Getting out of bed and putting both feet on the floor
Your body taking another breath without conscious effort
Your dreams in color...

Wait on Him in expectancy
Not waiting for Him to do something we are hoping for
But simply waiting to see what He will do and say
...Just hold your breath and wait

Thursday, 1 August 2013

He Who Is

He who layered every line
Into the cliff's face
He who painted the veregated color
Of each iris petal
He whose hand carved the dendrites
Of each crystal snowflake
How much more carefully does he entwine
Each thread of our life's tapestry?

He who knows each single eagle

By the sound of their cry
He who gave voices to the wind
For storm and gentle breeze
He who listens for the breath
Of every crawling beast
How much clearer does he hear
The quietest whisper of our heart

He who brushed the wisps

Of every clouded sky
He who placed the tiniest bud
Onto the willow's branch
He who shaped the granite stone
Into rocky peaks aloft
How much more intricately does he lay
The stepping stones of whatever our chosen path

He who knows the number of grains

On the expanse of sandy shores
He who has tallied the residents 
Of the buzzing hive
He who has numbered the blades of grass
Of the rippling meadow
How much more does he keep count
Of every teardrop shed in the dark

He who has patterned the colors

Of the peacock's plume
He who has stacked the steps of stone
To create the lacy waterfall cascade
He who has designed the perfect form
Of each fledgling egg
How much more has he elegantly drafted
The very essence of our being

He who is the Grand Creator

Of natures every masterpiece
He who is the Ultimate Designer
Of all living things
He who is the Master Orchestrator
Of the symphonies of the wild
How much more is He the Abba Father
Of every child of man

Friday, 24 May 2013

The Road

He walks the overgrown path 
With worn out shoes
A perfectly polished walking stick
Sheathing thistles and branches
From before his feet

The sun breathes
Warm on his canvas skin
Shadowed sporadically by canopies
Of giant oaks that have seen 
Eras of lifetimes past

Surely  he steps with spent soles
That have walked this trail before
In a distant memory of a dream
Recalled in a moment of clarity
Made vivid by regret 

With each step his back straightens
His knot earned shoulders pull back
He raises his chin, face on forward
The burdens of past knowledge
Falling from his body

The loss of weighted duties and ideals
Lighten his footsteps in the growth
The pace of his walk quickens
Pebbles skipping put from under his tread

From his brow, beads born
Of Determination and destination
Drip down his time traveled face
Leaving trails of salty streaks  
On his wizened lips

Not once does his head turn back
Nothing pauses his determined trek 
Not lack of map or assurances 
Nor His worn out shoes,
To walk the road not travelled