Paralyzed, perhaps discouraged
Lying on a mat, surrounded
By four friends resolved, determined.
No words we know this man had uttered
Just friends who carried, climbed and lowered
His bed to Jesus’ feet.
Healing came not through his profession
But with borrowed faith, expectation;
He walked away, his sins forgiven.
The joy of knowing, of loving
The weight of absence
The treasure of friendship
The ache of longing
The comfort of heaven
The pain of separation
The sweetness of memory
The numbness of emotion
The confusion of guilt
The hope of eternity
Feeling everything and nothing in the same breath.
Creator of life, know me. When my soul desires the silent land, rescue me. Maker of man, heal me. When flesh fails, strengthen me. Mover of mountains, show me. When grass withers, make your word alive. Man of sorrows, comfort me. When I’m drowning in affliction, make your law delightful.
Who is that stranger, the one I must have known. What could have caused such a brazen desertion where the pieces lying broken cannot utter their aversion. When I search for the old remnants, how is defeat and disillusion the result of search and rescue. Why must she continually abandon.
You do not belong here, you should not impose. You bring distress as you depress your friends and your foes. Blades of green surrounding defiled tombs confounding; buried deep are dry bones. Escape, o’ prisoner, from this incessant death. You do not belong here, this place is not your home.
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They say I can be broken. Just speak and I am gone. But in speaking, I am shattered, scattered, forlorn. Words floating aimless, invisible yet seen, bursting at the slightest touch, exposed. Shamed. Believed? Try catching gently, don’t let them float on by. Tomorrow, perhaps. For today, I still hide.
50 Words: Will Silence Speak?
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What would you do if you came across a tree in winter, and you had never seen a tree? Would you notice only the outside, and never examine the inner parts? Who are you when you are stripped bare? Would your inner beauty shine through the lifeless exterior? The outer appearance is not always as it seems, but the roots tell the story.
Like Trees in Winter
Aged and barren
Colorless and lifeless
Branches stripped bare
Dull and fruitless
With no shade to offer
Nothing to give
Deep within the earth
The roots remain strong
Hidden buds hint toward
The promise of spring
A broken branch reveals life within
Still loved by the Creator
There is purpose yet to be revealed
When you see the trees in winter
Don’t give up
When you are a tree in winter.
We are loved like trees in winter. We are loved by God not for what we do and not even for who we may become, but because God is love, and we are made in His image. He shines light in the darkness, and brings life out of desolation. The weak and broken, he makes useful and beautiful. He is making all things new.