Creation unfolds before my eyes, moving here and there.
Death, decay, and ravished earth–its inhabitants despair.
In mud, for blood,
the game plays on.
My mind inclined,
that hope was gone:
“This war cannot be won.”
Tainted, all. Worthy, none.
Miserable. Wretched. Dark, it seemed.
“Fear not, my son, you’ve been redeemed.”
Redeemed you say? It cannot be! Look underneath my skin;
death, decay, and ravished love, how far afield I have been.
My heart, my art,
my work, you see,
is bent, I spent
it all on me!
The land so full of death,
was poisoned by my breath.
“It matters not, how much you’ve schemed,
for you, my son, have been redeemed.”
My intentions often hid, but my actions speak aloud.
I care less of what God thinks, than approval of the crowd.
My creeds and deeds
have proven ill,
my oaths in droves
My labors and my plans,
disintegrate like sand.
“It’s not by these you are esteemed.
For my Name’s sake, you are redeemed.”
There was a day, a darkened day, whose scorn had been foretold.
A trial, denials, a blackened sky, a traitor’s pouch of gold.
The sting, the King,
sighed on a cross.
The pain and strain,
of lonely loss.
For joy that was ahead,
He suffered in our stead.
The war was lost. Or so it seemed:
“It is finished. They’ll be redeemed.”
Three hopeless days. Three anguished nights. No voice of comfort heard.
And then the reign of death was smashed, and He rose undeterred.
The one, True Son
had paid my debt.
My cries will rise
For Jesus drank the cup,
but God had raised Him up.
In light this brilliant gospel, gleamed,
our hope: “In Him, we are redeemed.”
I believe! But God, there’s more. Though Your hand of grace is plain.
This pain, this endless struggle. It’s too much. I can’t sustain.
My tears and fears
will not abate.
My cares are snares
and anger, truth be told.
“No matter how you’ve cried and screamed,
still you, yes you, will be redeemed.”
This work I cannot shoulder, Lord, the burden is not light.
I cannot do what you want me to! I can’t win this fight.
I’ve one, my son,
and daughters, three,
and wife, our life,
too much for me!
Tonight your bread supplies,
But what of when we rise?
“Trust. Through my death, and life, I’ve deemed:
You’ll not be lost, you’re my redeemed.”
I long to see the Dawning Day. To see You face to face.
I long to see the conflict cease. To end this weary race.
No tears or fears
beset me there.
No cares or snares,
to crush me where
I’ll finally be free.
‘Cause Jesus died for me.
And all will be as I have dreamed,
And all because, I’ve been redeemed.
- to give up resentment of, or claim to, something given in return, compensation, or retaliation
- to cease to feel resentment against
Is it ever appropriate to talk about forgiving God? I guess it would depend what we mean by “forgive”. If we are implying wrongdoing on God’s part, then I would say no. But what about the aspect of forgiveness that means, “to cease to feel resentment against”? Continue reading
This post has been a long time in coming. Years. It’ll probably stretch into a series.
The thing is, I’m mad at God.
My anger towards God has not been easy for me to admit, especially in a public forum like this. The truth is, I’m nervous about how it might come across. I don’t want to surprise or disappoint my friends and family. I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression about the God that I love. I don’t want to lead anyone astray.
But I am mad. And not just a little mad. Not like a kid pouting in the corner over not being able to have a piece of candy. It’s more like a person who feels like they have been betrayed by a spouse. Or like a person who believes that they have been wounded by their best friend. Or like a person who just found out that their understanding of what life is about is not accurate and now everything has been turned on its head. It’s a deep-seated kind of anger. The kind that simmers for a long time and starts to boil over. It’s real anger, and that scares me a little bit. Continue reading
If you know us, you may have heard Melissa and I talk about our son’s “extremely rare heart condition”. Translation: Hudson has Short QT Syndrome.
Reflections on the day we were told our son was going to die.
My wife and I sat in silence. The gray-haired doctor continued. “The MRI showed an excess of fluid on Hudson’s brain.” Continue reading
Hudson’s eyes looked trustingly at me. He didn’t like medicine (who does?) but at this point he could tolerate it well enough. It wasn’t going to be a wrestling match. This time. He groaned in gentle protest, like he knew what was coming, but he wasn’t up for a fight. It had been a tiring day and we both were spent. I could hear the heart monitor gently beeping in the background. We dimmed the lights as a couple nurses came in and fussed a bit, confirming his medication and trying to make the room feel less like the hospital we were in. One of the nurses asked, “Would he take it better from you?” I replied that he would without much thinking about it. It was true, of course. I had given him medicine countless times- we had a routine. Familiarity. Consistency. I was “safe”. That’s why I was there. I am Hudson’s person. My presence helped him stay calm. He knew me. Trusted me. Safety. Familiarity. Routine. That’s the key.
I will. Yes. I’ll do it. She gave me the syringe. Clear liquid. Taken by mouth. No biggie. “You got this, little guy. Daddy’s right here.” He takes liquids well. Aspirin. Ibuprofen. Vitamins. Done it a thousand times. Routine. Consistency. Repetition. “Ready?” I showed Hudson the syringe. His eyes told me he knew what was happening and that he was ready.
He opened his mouth a bit, and without any protest, without any spills, without anything happening worth mentioning at all really, medication that could stop a man’s heart slid silently out of the syringe in my hand and down my son’s throat. Continue reading