Poetry: Remember!

The enemy loves nothing more than to make us forget.  No matter how intentional we are about collecting stones of remembrance, determining to hold closely the answered prayers and words spoken over us in the past, we are easily paralyzed by unwanted memories, fear and shame.  Only by fixing our eyes on Jesus, choosing to let the distractions that creep into our peripheral vision fade, can we possibly overcome the accuser.

This poem reflects the truth that the Lover of our Souls is always prepared, never shaken, forever ready with weapons that confound the world in their effectiveness, that have no rival in strength.  Though the ways of God may appear meek, they are mighty.  Keep your eyes riveted on your Redeemer today, sisters.  Stop looking back.

Look up.

He promises to bring you out of darkness into light if you will only surrender to Him.

Remember!

Like a serpent from the depths

of the murky, raging river it comes.

The accuser strikes, taking hold and pulling

ever downward, to the awaiting pit

beneath the rocky bottom laced with

leeches and rotted moss.

 

It creeps up on silent feet,

stepping carefully lest it topple

the altar.

The stones once set carefully

in remembrance and celebration.

Stones now forgotten.

 

Memories flash as fireflies dance

in rebellion to the darkness.

Heartache swells and shame smothers

the breath of the one He loves.

The stones tremble,

crying out to be seen.

 

Silently a butterfly lands

atop the holy pile.

All speckled and orange and joy

it sits in delicate beauty

and the stones shift,

allowing space for the loose one to fall.

 

And fall, it does. 

Shouting as it goes,

“Remember! Remember!”

and the accuser pauses.

The victim’s eyes fix now upon

the faithfulness of the Rescuer.

 

“As far as the East is from the West.”

 

The accuser loses his grip.

 

“So far does he remove

our transgressions.”

 

The slave is set free.

 

A hand reaches down

to lift the beloved one

and speaks truth that

shatters the lies.

Shame has no place here.

Forgiveness is complete.

 

The JOY of Advent.

“He’s here.”

Can you just imagine the wonder in Mary’s voice as her firstborn son emerged from her womb and she held him at her breast for the first time?  Don’t you think the sounds around them faded into the background and all she heard was the thumping of her own heart and the still-wet baby whimpering as his first cries died down into peaceful slumber?  When I stop to let my mind envision the details of his birth (because so few are really given to us), putting myself in Mary’s place and listening with her ears, looking around with her eyes, I find a lump in my throat and the desire to fall on my knees to be overwhelming.

God with us.  The Word made flesh.  Born into utter poverty and humility but no less the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.  Our Jesus, the most valiant of warriors who would eternally conquer sin and death because we simply could not.

He’s here.

Oh, the love, the matchless love of Christ.  Sit with Mary a while, will you?  Imagine what it must have been like on that Christmas night when the longings of all generations were fulfilled in one miraculous moment, when a virgin gave birth to the Son of God.

 

JOY.

He’s here.

Oh, Joseph, just look at him.

My heart is bursting,

overflowing with love

and joy.

 

Shhh, do you hear it?

Listen, beloved.

They are singing

just beyond the hills

where the shepherds sleep.

 

The song is new.

Harmonies so perfect 

I sigh a smile

and the baby 

opens his eyes.

 

So tiny, yet ancient.

My mind cannot grasp

who I hold in my arms

yet I know I am in the middle

of history, HIS story.

 

Oh God, I am not worthy 

yet here I rest

agains the fragrant hay

with Heaven-song all around

and your Son gazing into my eyes.

 

Take my hand, Joseph,

see the love I hold for 

you, so brave 

to take this on.

This burden of grace.

 

Look upon the face 

of God,

this beautiful son of ours

who nurses peacefully 

as the melodies fade.

The Peace of Advent

Mary’s relationship with her cousin, Elizabeth has been a source of fascination for me as Christmas nears. God provided much-needed community for the mother of Christ in Elizabeth, someone…the only one…who could begin to relate to what Mary had been chosen to walk though. As I tried to imagine their conversations, whispered by firelight after Zechariah was long-asleep, this poem was fashioned:

PEACE.

Who, besides you, would understand?

This holy secret, silent, yet unknown outside of my womb.

The angel spoke your name, Elizabeth.

He told me of your wonder

and of the babe.

Just look at you.

He kicks and your belly writhes and the smile

oh, the smile on your aged face.

Your wrinkles deepen as laugh-light sparks

from your faded eyes.

Renewed, you are.

Made new, fruitful, forever a part of the grand story,

His story,

of redemption.

Hold my hand.

Tell me what I already know

but need to hear afresh.

How God supplies the strength we both will need.

I am not afraid,

yet I am.

The war in my spirit rages

as the flesh across my belly tightens and bulges.

But here you stand before me,

evidence of our God weaving the promise

of atonement within me.

Within us.

These infant sons we bear,

destined for pain.

We walk the first steps with them on a path

rocky with hate and rejection.

Yet I see in you an acceptance

the peace of God that flows through your fingers to mine.

I feel His presence, overshadowed by Him since that night

the Spirit made me His mother.

Who, besides you, would understand?

I find it not a coincidence that you, my cousin, are the bearer

of the messenger.

Two women, forever connected by destiny.

Your companionship eases my heart.

Your trust increases my own.

Your embrace enfolds me in peace

that I may walk with my eyes fixed on this sacred privilege.

The Hope of Advent

ELIZABETH, THE MOTHER OF JOHN

(Inspired by the book of Luke chapter 1)

 

Along with all the world she stands pregnant.

Beneath her heart beats the tiny one of the messenger.

This old woman once belittled by the townsfolk,

A raisin dried in the desert sun,

Now stretching and blooming with life,

Elizabeth holds her noble head erect and proud

Knowing she bears a holy burden

A voice cries out and the babe once still,

So small that only a few have noticed the swelling,

Leaps for joy! 

All four limbs stretch

To their full length in the first steps

Of a dance begun by the angels

Deep within the womb

Of his mother.

The eyes of the women meet,

Filling the distance with shared wonder

As they cross the sands to meet face to face.

The (G)race of Community

Today I have the incredible privilege of writing over at The Rabbit Room!  It is truly an honor to be allowed to share this message with such a large audience of artists, musicians, poets and storytellers whom I deeply admire.

I submitted this piece after weeks of mulling it over, writing and rewriting the message God had laid on my heart.  It’s a big topic, one that goes against what the culture is screaming at us but is everything God wants for His Bride, the Church.  Please hop on over there (PUN INTENDED!) and read “The (G)race of Community.”  

Blessings to you, my friends!  May our good God use this offering of words to encourage His people!

Boys. A poem about…well…boys!

A few weeks ago I was the parent in charge of the playground.

“Mama, we have to have someone watch us to play outside.  Can you watch us?”

I looked up from my book and smiled at my son.

“Sure.”

We left the room full of band students with their assorted books, recorders, drumsticks and woodwinds and headed out back to the lawn.  After the noisy din of the practice room it was wonderfully quiet outside.  The wind was blowing and Autumn’s chill made me wish I had brought a heavier jacket.  I pulled my hands up into my sweater sleeves and went back to my book.

Then the boys started to play.  The sounds were so sweet and typical and a little poem formed in my mind, which I will share with you today.  Just a simple reminder to stop and listen to the fun being had around us and, maybe, to join in!

boys, poem, poetry, rabbit room, writer, soccer, ball, grass, field, playing, outside

by Jeanine Joyner  

copyright 2018 alifeofsimplejoys.com

 

A Welcome Visitor

The poetry bug has freshly bitten and I have enjoyed stretching my creative muscles, finding new words and new ways to express the things that wander through my mind.  Here is one…about Autumn, my most favorite of seasons which has, at long last, arrived in Tennessee.  As the beauty of my surroundings increases in color I find myself turning away from my desk to take it all in with windows open, of course, and birdsong as the accompaniment to my early morning devotionals.  What a gift with which to begin each day!

A Welcome Visitor SS

Blessings to you as Autumn continues it’s beautiful march across our land.

Evening Wonder-A Poem

Stars above shine bright,
distant clouds flicker from within,
illuminated by light

The power of God on display
in skies alive with electric joy,
celebrating the end of day

Crickets sing in harmony,
waves of praise to the Ancient of Days
and the lightning beckons me

Look up, oh daughter, and see
your King’s flashing sword at play!
He comes to you on bended knee,

woos you with beauty and song.
Do you feel the waves of grace?
Do you see where you belong?

The storm is hovering afar,
the threat overtaken by beauty,
bolts of lighting spar.

Sculptured clouds dance,
with joy and abandon they glow,
and all of creation declares His glory