He Knows

"Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, 'If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.'" Luke 7:39

He knows who you are. You cannot sneak up behind Him. You cannot blindfold Him and say, “Guess who?” You cannot hide your shameful moments; He knows every one of them.

No Secrets

“But in these final days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom he also created the material universe.” Hebrews 1:2

It is said that we all remember where we were when President Kennedy was shot. For the generation that followed his assassination, perhaps the same can be said about the day the New York Twin Towers fell, perhaps always to be known as “9/11”. I was in second grade when the news hit the country that the President had been shot in Dallas while riding in now infamous black Cadillac convertible. Strangely enough, what I remember most is that school was canceled for at least one day, maybe two, and I spent much of that day off coloring.

Little I Know

"Little I Know"

(“Just then the men were allowed to recognize him. But when they saw who he was, he disappeared.” Luke 24:31)

How little I know of the smallness,
how narrow my view of the focus
which circles, a bright patch on creation’s dark fabric,
how little I know, and how can I speak
of larger denouements toward at corners of the map
not yet surveyed.

I am like a child unweaned, with a taste for only what I know.
I am a lapchild and know Abba’s face well when held close enough
to see His features, smile and scarred brow; callous and wounded hands.
Most times I know Him well and His voice makes me grin, makes me weep,
makes me remember the sweet in the middle of creation’s sometime
bitter brew.

How little I know of Him complete,
how far His silhouette of profile in the mists,
how little I know of His silence,
how quietly He invites while carnival barkers and
whirligigs drown my hearing.

I am a child who hears with ears accustomed to
timbre and tones named well by others who have offered their opinions.

Let me low and high discover the unwritten that words
are not hidden, that come unbidden before I’ve become
well-tempered tuned.