Until the Miracle Comes

Until the Miracle Comes

The moment refreshment lights upon my eyes,
a sleep from closed to open, and I want to take a drive,
or walk for more than a moment,
the pain wraps like an eel around my head
and keeps me stranded on this island

With moons that revolve morning and night,
booms and headlights, bees and polite phone calls
giving me the data for the day.

When I hit “send” after sending my heart to the page,
I knew you would see who you’ve always seen,
a brother, another just like you, who has seen it all
and still plays it cool (behind the screen we both
know the way words sound when we give ear,
not fright, to what we hear).

When I hit “send” I was not asking for a place on
another list of prayer. My name is mentioned
more often now, than ever I suppose. And the breath,
the fragrance, the incense, the intense love that ascends
to the throne is more than life in these moments between
pulses of pain and prayer.

When I hit “send” I did not expect a season of Miracles,
though I never turn down fresh-baked goods, free loaves
with cinnamon swirl, although I’ve eaten a bagel 15 minutes
before. I would not turn down a Miracle at all, yet

Until the Miracle comes

I hit “send” to hear a human who knew me; whose
silence-in-waiting maintains my moment just one
day longer; who, through the narrow tunnel of time
recognized the voice across the canyon yawning to read

“I can’t imagine the pain.”

And, having read once the words, could wait another 5 or 6
rounds of the planet, could thank his God
for a warm-blooded “ah yes and I know” from one of
a dozen left who see him head to toe,
faint to grand, sand to granite and know that holding a hand
is as good as a prayer until

The Miracle comes.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

“Jesus, the One who says these things are true, says, ‘Yes, I am coming soon.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!” Revelation 22:20

There is a bumper sticker that reads, “Jesus is coming, look busy” And, though it is tongue-in-cheek, it may reflect some peoples’ attitudes. The “threat” of Jesus’ return is used to motivate us to do what we should be doing all along.

I am Free

I

"I am Free"

(“Because I am innocent, and He would say, ‘I now set you free!’” Job 23:7)

They offered me freedom on a stick
held out in with hands that had dug their
ditches and planted their
wheat. Now those hands pointed away
to a country repeated on their nameplates
on oak desks stacked with travel vouchers.

You gave me freedom without reserve
embraced by hands punctured by the
listeners who heard nothing and by the
musicians who played only notes. Now those
hands still scarred showed me Your heart
with my name written, a signature of love
penned like it could never be wiped away.

I’m free, I cry, I cry,
I’m free, tell the sky, the sky.
Leave the curses behind,
the whispers unkind,
the bells peal, remind, remind.
I’m free, I cry, I’m free.

The Grade Book

“I further saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book too was opened, that of life, and the dead were judged according to their conduct from the entries in the books.” Revelation 20:12

Every schoolteacher has one. Every student knows about it. It contains record of the entire semester’s conduct for each student. Some students can’t wait to see what scores are hidden it its pages. Other students wish the book did not exist at all. But, no matter the student’s desire or belief system, the grade book exists. There will be an evaluation come the end of the semester.

There will also be an evaluation at the end of time. Everyone, “great and small” will stand before God’s throne. This verse describes the book of life being opened and then the dead being judged “according to their conduct from the entries in the books.”

A quick doctrinal note: We are saved, always and only by grace, through faith in Jesus’ forgiveness on the cross. But the Scriptures also speak clearly about rewards and our lives coming under scrutiny by God. If I were writing a commentary, I would examine this verse more diligently, reconciling the grace by which we are saved and the rewards by which we are judged. For now, though, I simply am thinking about the idea that ALL will face God, one way or another.

What we do in this life matters. It matters here, for certain. But, if that is not enough to make us sit up and take notice, it matters to God. There will be no difference when the grades are posted at the end of the semester. Rich and poor are measured by the same standard. Great and small face the same questions, and are required the same answers.

Though a student may try to appeal his grade, there is no such appeal in heaven. “I did turn in that paper, Mr. Phillips. I swear I did. I remember.” Mr. Phillips can either accept the student’s plea, give the student the chance to rewrite the paper, or disbelieve the student, giving him the zero.

But no such appeal can be brought to God. He knows the end from the beginning. He knows our dogs and He knows our homework. He knows who ate what! God will open His grade book and there will be no excuses, no claims of misplaced papers, and no request to retake the final exam.

But here is the amazing thing. God desires that we all pass. Most teachers hope that every student passes as well. In fact, the ones most likely to fail are the ones the teacher would rather not have in their classroom again. God wants every name in His book to shine as each every person was Valedictorian.

God is on our side in this business of judgment. God is the One who paid our tuition to be in Kingdom University in the first place. He is the One who gave us the Holy Spirit to tutor us through each and every test along the way. He makes every single test open Book, directing us to the text He Himself has provided.

The best teachers I had were the ones who inspired me to do my best. It really didn’t matter their testing method. It didn’t matter if they weighted homework more than exams, if they used pass/fail instead of letter grades, or if they let me grade myself. If I knew the teacher was directly invested in my success, I wanted to do as well in that class as possible.

God is invested in our success. He created us; we each carry His image in us as the pinnacle of His creation. When we marred His masterpiece by sinning, taking our own ways instead of His, He took the penalty upon Himself. We should have flunked. Instead, He replaced our failing grade with straight As when Jesus died upon the cross. The forgiveness we received was the same as putting us at the top of the class.

It is hard to understand, then, how we take His love for granted. It is a sad commentary that offering Him a nod on Sunday, hoping our children grow up to refrain from swearing and drinking, and memorizing a handful of selected Scriptures is our idea of an acceptable response to such outstanding love!

What will be my response when the book is opened? Before the throne, when all eternity is gathered up into a single moment, will my lackluster enthusiasm really stand out as A+ work? Why do I settle? Why do I merely want to “pass”? Why is most of my Christian life spent doing just enough to make sure I don’t flunk out of heaven?

There is a book, and I am being graded. That really shouldn’t scare us. Even though we might fear what the teacher’s grade book on the desk reveals, we all know it is a pretty fair evaluation of where we stand in the course. How much more with God’s Book of Life? He does not want us to fear, but He does want us to know we will be evaluated.

Wicked Advice

“Their feet are grabbed and caught, their necks in a noose. They trip on ropes they’ve hidden, and fall into pits they’ve dug themselves. Terrors come at them from all sides.” Job 18:10,11

Bildad, one of Job’s “friends” is describing the fate of the wicked. If he were merely giving a general proposal about what happens to evil people, there would be little argument with what he has to say. Given enough time, and enough rope, those who do wrong eventually do hang themselves.

The Territory

The Territory

Uncertainty is the territory I’ve inhabited
for half a decade now. I love the Lover better,
(or should I say, to be true to the letter, I think
I do)
But have more questions in the face of so
many
who fancy themselves arbiters of answers.

If a salary was assured me, I would lock myself in a room
overlooking the River,
and half the day read and write, or write, or read,
or talk on the phone to friends long in my heart
and far too far away. Their territories are separated
by years of success and certainty; promises kept longer;
homesteaded sojourns of generations.

I would spend the other half
wandering the River, while talking on the phone
to everyone I’ve ever offended, one more time,
to be sure my amends are certain.
Then I would do what I have never done,
and call the ones who offended me. I would make
certain they understood, and, without threat of
salary’s loss, I could speak freely until the moment
when the light went on, without the urge to hide
getting the best of me. And, for the one who said
I want grace for me and judgment for the other,
he would finally see, if he apologized to me,
how much grace I truly yearn to offer.

Uncertainty is my zip code, if you desire to visit me,
take off your self-assurances and tell me you’ve struggled
lately in life
a lot like me.

The Cold

The Cold

(“He loosens the bonds made by kings and binds a waistcloth about their loins.” Job 12:18)

Here we are upon the Columbia shore,
cold gripping our breath, quiet settling like
frost upon our hearing. Days and years pass
along with memories of rebukes once lasting
past the seasons of snow.

It was your words once bound my head with a
cheesecake shell tightened like lug nuts.
It was your face asking questions out of place
in public where everyone could hear.

I remember it well, and sometimes my gut
recalls what I have forgotten. But the
cold is quiet today, and the frost is likely to
stay just a few days longer.

My sins may circulate in the wind, if not the papers,
and I have read them well, signed them, and bound them
over for your consideration.

I never requested teeth for teeth, just a hand raised
when I asked if you would like to rephrase your questions.

Your sins circulate as well as mine, but there is no
autograph accompanying the crime.

But today, for once, the quietness is no intrusion,
the cold holds no foreboding. Just a silence showing me
my hands are uncuffed,
and a shiver that says I am only shaking because it is
winter.