Paul's face 1

The lantern cast a shadow dim
Across Paul’s face and covered him,
As if just half a man, with light
On his left side. He kept the right
Side of his face turned to the dark
So Eunice and her son could mark
When he would smile. The last time he
Was here he noticed Timothy,
Especially the trembling and
The awkward twitching in his hand.
Paul felt a kinship with the youth
And asked his mother if the truth
Of Christ had taken root, or made
A difference in the way he prayed
Or talked about his dreams. She said,
“He wants to talk with you. The dread
He felt is almost gone. He told
Me, when you left last time, ‘He’s bold
In spite of how he looks. Do you
Think Paul would meet when he comes through
This way again?’ ‘I think he would,’
I said. If you and Silas could
Come by our house tonight, he’s got
Some painful questions that I’ve not
Been able to resolve. Perhaps
Your story might fill in the gaps
Between my son and God.”
Paul sat
With Silas on his right, and at
His left the young man, Timothy,
With Eunice sitting quietly
Across the table. “Paul, what I
Would like to understand is why
You’re not self-conscious when you preach
In synagogues, or when you teach
In schools, or when the crowds surround
You in the square? I feel all bound
Up in myself whenever I
Have tried to speak. I’d rather die
Than watch embarrassed faces glance
At my bizarre and spastic stance
And twitching hands, and then look down
In pity, or worse, mock the clown,
And laugh at my attempts to speak
Of Christ. Paul, how, week after week,
Can you make your misshapen face
The object of so much disgrace,
And not become embittered at
Man’s cruelty, or worse than that,
The cruelty of God? Has your
Face always been that way, before
You can remember? Or, was it
An injury? I’d gladly sit
Here all night long, if you would tell
Your story, Paul?”
The pleasant smell
Of burning lantern oil filled up
The empty moments, as a cup
Is filled with wine to make one strong
And bold to carry out some long
And painful task. Paul turned his face
A fraction toward the boy. By grace
His mother never blinked, or took
Her eyes from Paul’s. Her steady look
Was trained to see through skin and rest
On deeper things and there be blessed,
And bless. Paul felt this solid grace
And said, “Yes, Timothy, this place,
This night, is ripe for hearing tales
Of how God beats with beams and nails
The rhythm of his gracious plan,
And makes a cruel and ugly man
His healing branch.
It all began
In Tarsus, where my father’s clan
Has lived two hundred years, disbursed
Since mighty Maccabees had burst
Against the idols of the Land.
My father was a Roman and
A Jew, the master of a school
That silenced scathing ridicule
And rivaled all the Greeks for pride
In higher thought. My father tried
In every way to make the Jews
Outshine the pagans who amuse
Themselves with myths and learn, for naught,
Philosophy and empty thought.
He dreamed of having sons who took
The pedestal and without book
Or note outshone Demosthenes,
And brought all Tarsus to its knees
In praise of Jewish rhetoric.
My birth turned out to be a trick,
It seems, and all the deities
Of Tarsus scoffed. The willow trees
Beside the River Cyndus speak
More fluently than Jews with weak
And palsied faces. I was born,
I’ve often thought, as with a thorn
So deep that none could pull it from
Its place. My cheek and eye are numb.
The right side of my lips drop out
As though I had a constant pout.
My right eye never shuts, and drains
Incessantly. There are no pains,
Nor can I feel the drainage so
To wipe my face before I know
It’s time from how the people stare.
Infections in that eye are there
As often as they’re not, and I
Can barely use it now. The cry
That went up from my father’s heart
Was not from pity for my part,
But rage against the gods, or God,
That they—or he—would rise and trod
My father’s dream down into dust.

He wrote me once and said, ‘I trust
You know I named you Saul, but not
Because he was a king. His lot
Was to be king, but he was born
A fool. He couldn’t blow the horn,
And never led his troops to war.
And ended in a heap before
His enemies, impaled upon
His own dull sword.” The bitter dawn
Of my third birthday I was sent
Up to Jerusalem and spent
My youth beneath the watchful eye
Of one my father knew, Rabbi
Gamaliel. My mother wept
And tried to help me to accept
It as a kind of mission for
The Lord, like Samuel who bore
The burden of the word when he
Was only three, and went to be
With Eli in the temple of
The Lord in Shiloh. But her love
Could not conceal my father’s aim
And plan: protect the family name
And pride, eliminate the shame,
Advance the cause of his acclaim
And guard the status of his school.
Even at three I was no fool
To think my going was a gift
To me, or that her words could lift
My load.
Gamaliel was tough,
Just like the Torah in his rough
And flawless hands. He looked at me
One time and said, ‘Saul, you can be
The best rabbinic mind with ease,
A Pharisee of Pharisees,
The Law and Prophets written on
Your mind. God gave you mental brawn
To make up for your outward looks.
If you will give yourself to books
And parchments, and the legacy
Of all the oral wisdom we
Possess, you will advance above
All the contemporaries of
Your age, and stop the mouths of strange
And foolish men who dare to change
The law, and even claim the king
Of Israel has come. The sting
Such messianic fools will feel
From your intimidating zeal
Will crush their cause and you will see
Why God brought you to live with me.’

Gamaliel could not conceive
That all I wanted to receive
Was not the talent to transcend
My age, but just to have a friend.
Why would a boy choose to contend
Or fight, if he could have a friend?
But then Gamaliel was right.
There were no friends. And so both night
And day I lived with books. These were
My silent friends—no scorn, no slur—
They all accepted me. They spoke
To me, but never made a joke
About my face. And so I built
A wall around my world. All guilt
And shame remained outside. Inside
I had my friends, my Law, my pride,
My flags of joy above the world,
An echo of my rage unfurled.”

Paul stopped. The hand of Timothy,
Before him motionless, lay free
Upon the table. Eunice sat
Enthralled with Paul, but noticed that
The tremors of her son were still.
“Paul, you’re not done, are you?” “Let’s fill
Our cups before we do the rest.”
Paul said, “I’ll get to your request.
There’s more. My citadel would soon
Be breached and sacred rubble strewn
In broken pieces everywhere.
Let’s pause, and then I’ll take you there.”

May God in mercy make this flame
A crucible for testing blame—
This candle one, Lord, let it burn
Our blaming soul until we learn
How much of it is sin. Burn down
The wall around our little town
That we have built to keep outside
The pain, but found it shelters pride.
O let this light expose the stain
And guilt of how we make our pain
A warrant for our sin, and then
Build walls around our guilt, and when
They’re up, unfurl the flag of rage.
Come, candle one, consume this cage,
And set us free. We do not need
These walls. The Lord of glory freed
Us for himself and our disgrace
He took, and he will lift our face.

© Desiring God

Paul's face 2

Paul turned the right side of his face
Into the dark and took the case
He carried in his cloak, and found
The linen napkin folded ’round
The little flask of oil, where none
Could see. The constant tears had run
Down to his chin and left their stain
Like ashen stripes on cracked terrain.
He wiped the stain, as he had done
Ten thousand times before, till none
Remained, then in the shadows held
The open flask of oil, that smelled
Like beaten olives crushed to make
A healing ointment for the sake
Of others crushed another way.
He paused, and then discreetly lay
His moistened fingers on the place
That never healed, then took the case,
And put it back, and said, “Let’s see,
Now, Timothy, can you help me?
Where were we when we stopped?”
“You said
Your father hoped to have, instead
Of you, another kind of son
That looked and sounded like the one
He always dreamed would make his school
A famous place. You said that ‘fool’
Is what he called you once, and that
Is why he named you Saul. You sat
And studied at the feet of old
Rabbi Gamaliel who told
You once that you could be the best
Rabbi in Israel and blessed
Above them all, if you would use
Your gifted mind and will, and choose
Your books to be your friends. He said
God gave you mental brawn instead
Of looks, and someday you would put
A stop to foolish claims afoot
In Israel that heaven’s king
Had come. You said, against the sting
Of shame outside, you built a wall
Around your Law and pride and all
Your books.”
Paul smiled, with his good side,
And said, “You listen well. I tried
To live inside that wall with books,
And never stopping by the brooks
To look down at my face, content
To be the best—in vain. I spent
More hours than Gamaliel
Would ever know under the spell
Of two angelic faces in
My youth.” Paul stopped and felt his chin
To see if he should wipe his face,
Then said, “It was a lonely place
Inside that wall.” He glanced across
Where Eunice sat enthralled. “The loss
Of love is like a hollowing
Inside the tree of life. You cling,
And then let go, and feel how great
The tree of love had grown. The weight
Of empty space is heavier
Than all the trunk and branches were
When she was there.”
Paul stared somewhere
Beyond the lantern light. The air
Was thick with eagerness. “Was there
A woman?” Eunice asked, with bare
And simple words. “I never thought
Of her that way. A woman ought
To be grown up. But we were not
Yet twenty-one. There were a lot
Of girls around Gamaliel’s school,
Because he had the finest pool
Of single Pharisees where they
Could fish. But there was one who, day
By day, would work her kitchen rounds
And then read Torah to the sounds
Of her own melodies. Most girls
Did not know how to read. Their curls
Meant more to them than Moses did.
But not Tashuka. Oft I hid
Behind a wall or bush to look,
Or listen, as she sang the book.
And after months of this, I put,
At last, a letter at the foot
Of one great terebinth where she
Would often sit. It said, ‘This tree
Above is like the Law to me,
Because within its shade I see
More beauty than in all the fields
Beyond. And there is none that yields
A sweeter fruit to bless so well
The garden of Gamaliel.
Please know, Tashuka, one there is
Who studies in these walls, and his
Desire is that someday, beyond
All dreams and hope, you might respond,
And, trembling in that very place
Alone, we might stand face to face.’

For three long months I put a note
There every day, and what I wrote
Was all my heart, in hope that she
Would love the Saul that she could see
In letters first, before she saw
My face. I hoped my zeal for Law
And God would be enough to win
Her love in spite of looks and skin.
And then one day I saw her lay
A note there by the tree and stay
For just a moment. Then she left.
I watched, as if I plotted theft,
And stole the letter silently,
And took it to my room, and there
Among my books and parchments, where
I lived so safe, and so esteemed,
And so alone, I sat and dreamed
What she might say. At last I cut
The seal and read, ‘Dear sir, you shut
Yourself away, unseen, unnamed,
Concealed, as if you were ashamed.
There is no need for that. All I
Can see are worthy reasons why
You should stand forth. I would suggest,
Dear sir, put me now to the test,
And in my customary place
Make your proposal face to face.’
And so with fear and trembling I
Prepared myself and prayed that my
Right eye one hour would be dry,
And my lips not so weak when I
Attempt to speak. I saw her come
At her appointed time. My numb
And reddened cheek was hot. She turned
As I appeared. My body burned
With fear and blazing hope. I said,
‘Tashuka, I am Saul. I read
Your letter. Thank you, that you came.’
But as she stared at me, the shame
Increased with every second till
She turned and left me standing still
With flowers in my shaking hand.
I’ve traveled through the Sacred Land
A hundred times, and never met
Her once since then.”
Sad tears had wet
The face of Eunice as she heard
The story of Paul’s loss. She stirred
The cup in front of her, unsure
What she should say. “I’m sorry. You’re
Worth more than that,” she said. Then Paul
Replied, “The mortar in the wall
Around my lonely soul was mixed,
I think, with too much notice fixed
On worth and not enough on grace.
I saw this in another face,
And everything I’d built began
To fall.” So Eunice asked, “And can
You tell us whose it was—this face
So powerful that we can trace
To it the fall of all your world?”
“About a year went by. Then swirled
A storm of controversy in
Jerusalem. There had not been
Such fury since the day we killed
The Lord. And finally it spilled
Beyond what anyone had seen
For years, and filled the court with mean
And raging men, including me,
Though I was but a youth. And we
Were driven to this rage by one
Whose humble face shown like the sun,
And said that Jesus was alive,
And that our Law, and how we strive,
And worship with our feasts,
And sacrifice our flawless beasts
Was coming to an end, and all
That we must do is trust, and call
Upon the mercy of the Lord.
I knew if this was true, a sword
Would pierce the city of my soul
And lay in ruins ev’ry goal
I had, and overthrow my birth,
My pride, and all my vaunted worth.
And so I gathered at my feet
The garments of the most elite
In righteousness as they stoned him
To death. And then, when ev’ry limb
Of Stephen’s body quivered in
The agony of death, the sin
Of all my righteousness appeared
For one brief moment. Killers cleared
Away, and I saw Stephen’s face,
The right side torn away, and grace
Filled all the rest. And with the lips
That he had left he said, ‘Though whips
And stones destroy this flesh, I know
That my redeemer lives. I go.
Behold the Son of Man has stood,
And counts this sinner Stephen good!
However great their sin amount,
Christ, lay it not to their account.’
The wall was breached, and though I raged
To keep myself with Law encaged,
The power of his shredded face
Would prove to be triumphant grace.”

There’s one more chapter, Timothy,
Of what God had to do to me
To free me from myself, and give
Me peace with who I am, to live
In freedom from the looking glass,
To let the stares of others pass,
And ponder not incessantly
That I am seen, but that I see.”

O candle two, ignite this truth
And burn it into every youth:
The love we need is not the kind
That comes to us and tries to find
Some worth or beauty that can keep
The lover true. No, we must sweep
All self-exalting loves away.
One kind of love alone will stay,
And it is not the kind that needs
Our worth or beauty or good deeds,
But intercedes for us and dies
When there is nothing here but lies.
The love that, as we kill, it cries,
“Lord, make these enemies your prize.”

Paul's face part.3

Paul looked at Silas, smiled the kind
Of half-smile Silas loved, inclined
His head toward Timothy, and said,
“The best is yet to come. I dread
To make my friend sit through this tale
Again. I’ve led him down this trail
So many times, he must grow tired
Of hearing it.” “If I aspired
To novelty instead of truth
I might grow tired of it. But youth
And love of novelty are both
A distant memory. I’m loath
To nurse the craving I once had
For newness,” Silas said. “My dad
Once said, ‘Learn well the ancient songs,
My son. Someday a wave of wrongs
Will break across your life, and death
Will beckon you, and your last breath
Will serve you best with ancient hymns
Forged in the fire of shattered limbs
And broken hearts. These ancient songs
Will bear you through a thousand wrongs
And make you strong when others fail
At midnight in a Roman jail.’
So do not fret for me, my friend,
But tell your tale. In fact, the end
Is what I most would love to hear
Again. So finish it. Don’t fear
That you could bore your friend.”
Paul turned
To Timothy again, “I’ve yearned
For you to join us in this band
Of missionaries since God’s hand
Led us through Lystra months ago.
I know you think you are too slow
Of speech and even spastic in
Your hands, and doubt that God could win
A single soul to Christ through you.
But, Timothy, the Lord will do
More than you dream, if you will trust
Him with your mouth and mind, and thrust
Your trembling hand into the strong
And wounded grip of Christ. The long
And crooked path I took before
I could embrace my weakness or
My face, you could be spared. I pray
It will be so tonight. And may
My story’s end make you as glad
To join my band, as if you had
Omnipotence sustaining you,
Because, in truth, my friend, you do.”

Then Timothy replied, “I would,
Paul, thank you deeply if you should
Oblige my wavering heart with this
Last chapter of your tale. The kiss
Farewell that you are asking me
To give my haven here would be
The hardest thing that I have done.
Tell me, how was the battle won
That you should bow, and then embrace
For Christ your weakness and your face?”

“With lethal letters in my hand
From Caiaphas the priest, I planned
My journey to Damascus where
The Way had spread, and thought that there
Gamaliel’s old prophecy
Would finally come true for me:
‘Someday you’ll stop the mouths of strange
And foolish men who dare to change
The law, and even claim the king
Of Israel has come. The sting
Such messianic fools will feel
From your intimidating zeal
Will crush their cause and you will see
Why God brought you to live with me.’
With rage and murder in my heart
Against God’s grace and ev’ry part
Of Stephen’s claim, I set my face
Against the fools who say that grace
Had made a pile of rubbish out
Of all my deeds. I took the route
Up to Damascus, there to break
The back of Jesus’ Way, and make
A great display of my own zeal.
As we approached the town, the seal
Of heaven broke. And suddenly
A blazing light, more bright than we
Had ever seen or dreamed could be,
Shone like a hundred suns on me
And struck me to the ground with so
Much force I did not even know
That I had fallen, when it seemed
As if a thousand rivers streamed
Together at the cataracts
Above my head and fell with facts
As heavy as an ocean filled
With truth. A voice from heaven spilled
It’s thund’ring falls into the sea:
‘Why are you persecuting me?’
I cried, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ And what
I heard him say forever shut
My mouth against the Way. He said,
‘My name is Jesus. I was dead,
And am alive for evermore.
These fools you aim to kill mean more
To me than all the galaxies.
You cannot win or silence these.
The way you wield your priestly sword
You strike against the risen Lord.
Go to the city now and you,
My slave, will hear what you must do.’

For three long days I could not see,
Nor did I eat or drink. One plea
Was on my lips: ‘O God, let there
Be mercy on my head and spare
Me all the wrath that I have earned
Because I killed your sheep and spurned
The Shepherd of your flock, and tread
With scorn upon your grace. I dread,
O God, what I deserve. My face
Is covered, now, with shame. My place
Is with the worst of sinners in
The lake of fire, where all my sin
Will make you just, while I repay
My debt with an eternal stay.
O God, O Christ whom I have killed,
O Lamb of God whose blood I spilled,
All covered now with vile disgrace,
O Lord, have mercy on my face.’

And as I prayed, a man appeared
Sent from the Lord. At first he feared
To come, but when he learned what Christ
Had planned for me, he sacrificed
His fear and came. He said, ‘Receive
Your sight, my brother, Saul, and leave
The blindness of your soul behind
And come, the light of Truth has shined
On you. Your sins are covered by
The blood of Christ. And when you die
Each day, and then at last, it will
Not be a punishment, but fill
What’s lacking in the Savior’s pain:
The readiness to make it plain
By suffering yourself. God chose
You from the womb to bear the blows
That bring the blood of Jesus to
The world, and made your face the true
Divide between the lovers of
The Gospel grace and those who love
The praise of man. To these you are
A stumbling block, to those a star
To guide them safely home to God.
The comeliness of your façade
Means little if they’ve gone astray.
What counts is that you know the Way.
Henceforth the Lord lifts up your face
Your pain is now the path of grace.’”

Paul looked at Timothy to see
If he had understood. “To be
A member of your team would cost
A man his life.” He paused. “You’ve lost
A lot to follow Christ.” But Paul
Replied, “If I could lose it all,
It would be gain. There’s one last part
You haven’t heard. It might impart
The final piece and help you see
How loss is gain. Recall that we
Began this tale in Tarsus where
My father had his school. And there
He named me Saul, and grieved that I
Was unfit for his dreams. “Good-bye,”
Was all he said, and sent me to
Jerusalem. I never knew
Him all my life. But then one day
The saints in Caesarea lay
A plan for me to flee and move
To Tarsus till the plots should prove
Ephemeral. And there I found
The synagogue. “May I expound
The Law and prophets here,” I asked.
The ruler said, “If you were masked.
What claim have you to teach the Law
Of God?” “I think you hold in awe
My teacher in Jerusalem,
Gamaliel.” “You touched the hem
Of great Gamaliel? You sat
At his beloved feet?” “And that
From when I was a child of three
Till I became a Pharisee.”
“We will be glad to hear you speak,
And we will overlook your weak
Appearance.” “There’s one question, sir.
Would I be right, or would I err,
If I assume the master of
The school will come?” “For love
Of fame—a Pharisee, from old
Gamaliel—he’ll come. His gold
Is everything that shines. It’s good
The master’s almost blind. He should
Give you a hearing.” “One more thing,
Sir, as you go, could you please bring
To my attention when he takes
His seat this Sabbath day?” “He shakes.
His hands. His head. You’ll know him when
He comes.”
I watched for him. And then
He came, and took the foremost seat,
And sat directly at my feet.
I preached the gospel unashamed.
They listened calmly, till I named
The great Messiah, Jesus, Lord
Of heav’n and earth, who died and poured
His blood out on a Roman stake,
And came back from the dead to take
His seat at God’s right hand. Before
They left in rage, I spoke one more
Brief word: ‘God sent his son,’ I cried,
From glory down to shame. He died
That every dad who did the same
Might be forgiven, and the blame
Be carried by the Christ defiled,
And sons and fathers reconciled!’

They all stormed out, except for one.
And there, the father and the son,
Alone, with Christ, stood face to face
Beneath the cataracts of grace.

“Do you see Timothy? The years
The pain, the loneliness, the jeers
From children all my life—all this,
My friend, to bring my father bliss
Forever with his son before
The risen King whom I adore?
I ask again, dear Timothy,
Will you now come and die with me?”

Bright candle three, the answer waits,
While ev’ry person contemplates
And ponders in the quiet light
Of your small flame how true and right
Are all the promises of Christ
And how for these he sacrificed.
Do I believe with all my heart
The canvass of my life is art?
That ev’ry crimson thread is laced
Through dark or silver fibers placed
So perfectly it will be plain
That none was woven there in vain?
Do I believe my faulty face
Will prove to be a work of grace?
And will I banish fear and shame
And lift my head to speak the Name?
I now by ev’ry promise I possess,
With Timothy, do answer, yes.

© Desiring God

For Thalida at her Baptism

The Lord himself once stood
With John the Baptist in the river, just
The way you stand with me
Tonight, the Son of Man with perfect trust,

Fulfilling everything
Required of us, as if a spotless Lamb
Should there repent, as if,
Immersed and hushed, the great I AM

Could choose to sink in death
And bury there alone in the abyss
Our sin, a parable
Of love and hope and suffering—and this.

And now you stand with me
Tonight in these strange waters, full of death,
And put your hand in mine
To lay you down, as if in sleep, one breath

Away from heaven’s gate,
As I have done three thousand times, since you
Were eight weeks old. But now
To signify not sleep but death, and through

This happy grave, to rise
Not this time into one more fading day,
But everlasting life.
And so tonight, dear Talitha, I pray:

God grant that you would live
Forever in the faith that makes you one
With Jesus Christ, and takes
You into death with him, and life, where none

Can pluck you from his hand
Or undo what the risen Lord has done.
And when the time should come
That I, though he has called me precious son,

Must once more be immersed
In death, fear not, this is no final threat
To me or you, but take
My hand in hope, as you do now, and let

Me draw my final breath,
And enter heaven’s gate assured of this:
That you will follow me
Someday and greet me with a holy kiss.

The tea cup

A couple vacationing in Europe went strolling down a little street and saw a quaint little gift shop with a beautiful teacup in the window. The lady collected teacups and she wanted this one for her collection, so she went inside to buy the teacup, and as the story goes the teacup spoke and said:

"I want you to know that I have not always looked like this. It took the process of pain to bring me to this point. You see, there was a time when I was just clay and the Master came and he pounded me and he squeezed me and he kneaded me and I screamed: "STOP THAT!". But he just smiled and said, "Not yet".

Then he took me and put me on the shelf and I went round and round and round and round... and while I was spinning and getting dizzier and dizzier I screamed again and I said, "Please get me off this thing... please get me off!!!" And the Master was looking at me and he was smiling, as he said, "Not yet".

Then he took me and walked toward the oven and shut the door and turned up the heat and I could see him through the window of the oven and it was getting hotter and hotter and I thought, "He's going to burn me to death!".

And I started pounding on the inside of the oven and I said, "Master, let me out, let me out, let me out!", and I could see that he was smiling as he said "Not yet". Then he opened the door and I was fresh and free and he took me out of the oven and he put me on the table and then he got some paint and a paintbrush.

He started dabbing me and making swirls all over me and I started to gag and I said: "Master, stop it... stop it... stop it please... you're making me gag". He just smiled as he said "not yet".

Then very gently he picked me up again and he started walking toward the oven and I said, "Master, NO!! Not again, pleeeease!!". He opened the oven door and he slipped me inside and he shut the door and this time he turned the heat up twice as hot as before and I thought, "He's going to kill me!!", and I looked through the window of the oven and I started to pound on it, saying, "Master... Master, please let me out... please let me out... let me out!".

I could see that he was smiling but I also noticed a tear trickle down his cheek as I watched him mouth the words, "Not yet!"

Just as I thought I was about to die, the door opened and he reached in ever so gently and took me out, fresh and free and he went and placed me on a high shelf and he said: "There, I have created what I intended. Would you like to see yourself?" I said, "Yes". He handed me a mirror and I looked and I looked again and I said, "That's not me, I'm just a lump of clay".

He said, "Yes, that IS you, but it took the process of pain to bring you to this place. You see, had I not worked you when you were clay, then you would have dried up.

If I had not subjected you to the stress of the wheel you would have crumbled. If I had not put you into the heat of the oven you would have cracked. If I had not painted you there would be no color in your life. But, it was the second oven that gave you the strength to endure. Now you are everything I intended you to be - from the beginning." And I, the teacup, heard myself saying something I never thought I would hear myself saying, "Master, forgive me, I did not trust you. I thought you were going to harm me, I did not know you had a glorious future and a hope for me. I was too shortsighted, but I want to thank you.

I want to thank you for the suffering. I want to thank you for the process of pain. Here I am! I give you myself - fill me; pour from me, use me as you see fit. I really want to be a vessel that brings you glory within my life."

God alone is Wise

God alone is full of wisdom,
God alone knows every end,
God alone plans every pathway,
More than we can comprehend.
Infinite! His wisdom soars,
High above our peace and wars,
Grasping all the mysteries,
Governing the galaxies.
Infinite! Our God is wise!
Let our boast in him arise!

Wise! He saves the lowly sinner.
Wise! He keeps his covenant.
Wise! His ways at Calvary
Silence ev’ry argument.
By his blood and righteousness
Jew and gentile he will bless.
None shall boast in any man,
All shall marvel at his plan.
Infinite! Our God is wise!
Let our boast in him arise.

The Son

There was once a father and son. They were both painters. They lived in Europe. One day that so had to go to the Army, the father was very distressed about his son's leaving. He felt very lonelly at times. One day, a soldier came to the door and told to the father that his son died in the war. This soldier had a picture with him and he said this to the father: I have with me a picture of your son that I drew of him beofre he died... I am not so good at drawing. One day while we were on the frontlines fighting, a soldier from the other camp, from the enemy’s side came to me, and he was about to shoot me, when your son jumped in front of the bullet and he took it and died instead of me. I respected and loved your son a lot. He was more than a brother to me. We were very close to each other during the war time. He gave me your address to come to see you and tell you how much he loved you.

The father wept and cried for days on, over his son’s death. He took the picture of his son, that the younger soldier has drew and put it in the middle of the room, and whenever he missed his son he looked at it. Towards the end of his life, he wrote a testament and gave it to his lawyer. One day the famous painter died, and his lawyer, organized an auction. At that auction, many, many famous and reach people came.

Everybody was excited about this auction, and they thought that when they will go home they will be very rich. The auction started with the first painting, and it was the sketch that the soldier made of the sun. The auction started with the selling of this sketch starting from five dollars. The rich people were not happy with this painting and wanted to get over with it and move to the real stuff. And they started shouting:
- Get this ugly painting away from here!

Then the lawyer, asked:
-Is there no one that wants to buy this painting, not even for just five dollars? And then suddenly, inside the room came the soldier and said:
-Sir I will buy this painting, I knew the sun! Sir, I don’t have a lot of money, I am pour I only have five dollars. This is all I have, but please give me that painting. I love it. I love the sun, he died for me!!!

Then the lawyer said:
- Going once, going twice the painting is sold! Its going to the young soldier,.... then he added: -The auction is officially over now.
Everybody was surprised and they all started mumbling and grumbling about this, saying it is impossible.
-How can the auction be over? We just got here! Isn’t there more? Where is the rest, where are all the other paintings that we came here for?
The lawyer looked at them and said:
- The father said in his testament that whoever buys the son’s painting will take all of it and all the other paintings. Whoever takes the son inherits it all.So with this all the rich man, left with nothing.

So it is with God, when he says: Whoever will it take and believe in his son shall inherit the Kingdome of Heaven. Whoever does not believe in his son shall perish and wil be thrown out in the lake of fire for ever.

You are my everything

So many times I try to think of You
So many times I try to reach You
But so many things try to pull me down
This world it's fighting too hard to keep me calm
You try to pull me up and they drag me down
I can’t fight this Lord...all on my own.
You have to come and rescue me from this realm.

I fought so hard so long with the world
I fought wars and battles with my self
And when I finally realised my power's are out
Than it all came clear to me
That you have promised a way out
Than I gasped and said to Thee
Lord I'm done; the devils have warned me out
You're will in my life be done.

You're strength was there all along
Just for me to see and stretch my hand
To grab your hand and have it all for free
But ohhh ..no...I had to do it all my self
I though I was strong enough to carry everywhere
My mountain of burdens, instead of giving it all to Thee.

Now I know and am ready to give it all up
For a higher purpose to live is what I need
I know I’m not worthy of You're call
On my knees in repentance now I plead
To have mercy, look how inside now I bleed
Make my ego die down so you can exalt me
And so in this I could find peace with Thee
I haven’t been a good child I do agree
In front of your mighty throne I shall crawl
Take my pour heart again and mend it all up.
And keep me close to your bosom so can never fall.


You are the Father to me that I never had
You took my earthly parent to give me one in heaven,
You were a friend to me when mine’s have abandoned me.
You are everything to me, but mostly You’re the One,
For many have promised to give me the moon for an expensive fee
You never asked for anything but you gave all you had
You took me by the hand and showed me heaven,
Whispered in my ear that this is my home forever.

Your Love shines on my face Father

 I'm only a child Lord waiting for Your Fatherlly Love.
 I am waiting to  be disciplined so I can  be pleasing to                    
                       You and You only.

What am I worth to you Lord???

If they ask me, why I need You in my life?
If they ask me why I love You?
And if they also ask me why I serve You Lord?


I'll tell them this:

I need You in my life because I can't breath without You.
I love You because You first loved me.
I serve You because You died for me.


Ohhh Lord... before I even learned how to speak You have put a hunger in my heart to see You.

Lord before I was even born You were there for me and have fought for my life and have crowned me.

Lord before my mother has thought of having me and giving me a name You have already said in Heaven my name. You have prepared the way, youhave prepared the day, and You have prepared the date. None of it was a mear accident or coincidence.

Lord before my coming to the earth you have decided I was your child and you have placed a crown upon my head that I have thought many times that was too heavy for me. But You knew better and have named me "the crowned" and have made me to live up to that name.

Lord You have loved me before I even exsited.
But why Lord why??? I do not understand your love for me.

Lord I have abandoned You so many times.
Lord I have doubted Your Word and Your Will in my life so many times.

Lord I have scorned You and I have been mad at You, I have questioned you, I even hated You. Lord.....but You never stoped one bit to continue to love me.

Why Lord why? And why me?

Lord I have never done anything good in my life. Anything that I did good was with the wrong motives. I did it to impress You or others or worse..... to feel good about myself.

Lord I have forsaken You so many times I was looking for you but I was looking the wrong way, seeking You in people, thinking I would find You there. I was lookng down and forgot to look up to You. Now I know that nothing under the sun is good and all of it is meaningless.

                                   Lord what am I worth to you?
                        Why did You pay such a high price for me?

Lord You knew before I knew how I am going to be, You knew what I am going to do. You knew of betrail, of my doubts and questening.....and still You have made me.

                                       What am I worth to You Lord?
                      Why don't You throw me  away? I have sinned so much against You.

Lord I am nothing without You, and if it wasn't for Your Love and Mercy, I would be just anothe rsquarming warmwondering in the world with no pourpose.

                                          Why do You love me so?
                                  Why do You even spoil me?

I left You behinde so many times looking for my own pursuit.
I left my stinking feelings come between us.
I left other things or other relationships, even my dreams and desires come between us. 
I deserve to be abandoned the same way.
I deserve death and punishement.
I deserve to go t hell for all I have sinned against You.

              But No......You wouldn't let me.......through all this You were faithfull and loyal.
    You were still there same place I have left You, broken hearted, grieving but still waiting                                                                    patientlly.

Waiting for stinking me to return for a little while and than to leave again. And You knew that, but
You still stayed strong and unmoved everytime in the same place where I left You, waiting and praying to Your Father to forgive me!...

Ohhhh......and I have cried and have reapt my close off...and have repented and begged for forgivness so many times....Lord.....Havn't You had enough of me yet?

                                          Why do You still keep me strong and healthy
                                               and give me all my hearts desires?
                                                 Why do You  still love me Lord?
                                                  What am I worth to You Lord?

Lord I cannot speak, I cannot do anything good without You.
If You wouldn't put words in my mouth, and if you havn't giving me the wisdom that comes from You I would be nothing. No one would have even glanced at me.


Lord if it wasn't for the Love that You have put in my heart or for the hunger that You have put in my soul I would not know how to Love You or others.
I would not know how to seek You, but because of this Love that you have for me and have put in me is why I want to serve You, and this is why I love You.
I love You Lord because you first Loved me.


But still with my little mind cannot understand Your great Love for me.
I just do not understand why You Love me!? I do not understand the deepness of Your love for me that You have given the Only Son You had to die on a cross for a

                             Stinking, Worthless, Warm like Nobody me.