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The Man who stilled the raging seas,
Who calmed the storm with whispered peace,
Stepped down into the flood of pain,
And bore the weight of our disdain.
The Man whose feet on waves were sure,
Chose sinking depths, our souls to cure.
He walked where mortal men would drown,
Then laid aside His heavenly crown.
The debt was ours, yet He alone
Would face the wrath, would stand atone.
The spotless Lamb, the Holy One,
Would perish below a darkened sun.
The hands that healed, were pierced and torn,
The brow once kissed, with thorns adorned.
The voice that called dead hearts to rise,
Gave up His breath in sacrifice.
For He who walked on waves so free,
Has drowned in love, for you and me.
Yet in that grave, Love was not lost,
He rose again, our debt the cost.
Death could never hold Him down,
The cross exchanged for glory’s crown.
Now mercy flows, the chains undone,
By Jesus Christ, the conquering one.
Now every storm and shadowed night
Is pierced with resurrection light.
So lift your eyes: The King is near
The tomb is empty: love is here
Conrad Larson Apr 16
I bring no merit of my own,
No pure desire within me grown.
Rendered thirsty in my forsaking,
Searching deserts of my making.
Not by my strength do I arise,
But I am carried by Your sacrifice.
In Your hands, my soul finds rest,
By grace upheld, forever blessed.
When shadows fall and doubts increase,
Your whisper brings my heart to peace.
Though fear may surge and hope seems small,
Your presence overcomes it all.
To see You, Lord, is my desire,
Yet faith, not sight, You do require.
With open hands and life laid bare,
I wait, I trust, I find You there.
For all the wisdom earth can hold
Cannot compare to love untold.
Without Your stronghold, firm and true,
I have nothing apart from You.
Conrad Larson Apr 16
The Man who stilled the raging seas,
Who calmed the storm with whispered peace,
Stepped down into the flood of pain,
And bore the weight of our disdain.
The Man whose feet on waves were sure,
Chose sinking depths, our souls to cure.
He walked where mortal men would drown,
Then laid aside His heavenly crown.
The debt was ours, yet He alone,
Would face the wrath, would stand atone.
The spotless Lamb, the Holy One,
Would perish below a darkened sun.
The hands that healed, were pierced and torn,
The brow once kissed, with thorns adorned.
The voice that called dead hearts to rise,
Gave up His breath in sacrifice.
Yet in that grave, Love was not lost,
He rose again, our debt the cost.
Now mercy flows, the chain undone,
By Christ, the risen, conquering Son.
So when you fear the deep, the tide,
Remember Him, the Crucified.
For He who walked on waves so free,
Has drowned in love, for you and me.
I rise once more with trembling hands,
Beneath the weight of shifting sands.
Each fault a stone, each tear a tide,
And still I flee, and still I hide.
Yet there You find me, drenched in dust,
With mercy fierce, in You I trust.
You lift the shame I could not bear,
And cast it far through boundless air.
From east to west, Your hand has drawn,
A sacred line where night meets dawn.
You wiped away what once was mine,
The scars, the stains, the fault, the time.
Yet still, I ask with aching heart,
How can You love what fell apart?
You whisper low, You know my name,
Not by wounds, but by spirit’s flame.
The fire you sparked when time began,
Still burns within your sovereign plan.
My God makes all ruins rise in grace,
Each fractured thing, a holy place.
Even my heart, so prone to roam,
Is being carved to be Your home.
So I will trust the unseen thread,
That weaves through thorns and lifts the dead.
You know the hour, the weight, the test,
You fling my sins from east to west.
And though I walk with stinging eyes,
Your grace is deeper than the skies.
You set eternity in little broken me,
Once bound in chains, now flying free.
Conrad Larson Mar 25
The night is long, the road is wide,
the air burns cold, the winds confide.
Yet who shall stand against the dawn,
when love itself has led us on?
He spoke the world from silent dust,
to walk the road that bled to death.
Then tell me now, what man shall rise,
to lay his claim, to call me lies?
What tongue dare whisper I am lost,
when He has paid the final cost?
No sword, no stone, famine's hand,
no raging tide, nor desert sand,
no shadow cast from heights untold,
can break the bond my spirit holds.
The earth may shake, the sky may fall,
the grave may stretch its silent call.
But love has struck its burning mark,
no depth can drown, no night is dark.
So let them come with tooth and chain,
with fire's breath, with flood and rain.
No reckoning stands, no verdict stays,
for He is love beyond all days.
Conrad Larson Mar 10
You do not know where the wind walks,
how it stirs the cottonwoods at dusk,
the way it moves the dust across the plain
like ghosts fleeing a silent war.
It has no name but carries the weight of ages,
whispering secrets it will never tell.
Nor can you see the hands that shape
the life itself beneath the ribcage of the world,
human bone and body spun from silence,
blood singing its first unspoken hymn.
The Maker’s fingers work in shadows,
his loom threading stars and sinew alike,
his breath a word we cannot utter.
Out here, the land rolls on forever,
the earth stitched to the sky by horizons
that shimmer like lies in the heat.
Through fields of wheat that bend like prayers,
through rivers that carve the land like longing,
through nights so wide the stars seem near enough to touch.
The earth is full of voices, though none speak your name,
yet in the hush between footfalls, you listen
and the silence hums with something divine
Men plant their seeds in the dark soil,
their faith as fragile as the brittle stalks.
They do not know which will rise,
nor whether the rains will come
or the locusts.
But still, they sow.
Still, they wait.
Because there is no knowing,
and yet, there is knowing,
a quiet thing, lodged deep in the chest,
older than man’s knowing itself.
And on you press,
Because what is faith, if not a step forward
into the unknown,
into the unseen,
into the hands that have held all things
since before time learned to name itself,
The wind moves, and you cannot see it.
Life grows, and you do not know how.
But somewhere, beyond the farthest ridge,
the unseen hand is steady at work,
turning the world on its axis,
calling you to walk forward,
though the road may never show its end,
and you walk
until paths of dust are traded,
for streets of gold.
We chase an end to suffering’s cry,
With weary hearts, we wonder why.
We long for peace, for trials to cease,
Yet find no lasting joy, no sweet release.
Blind we wander, lost in despair,
Grasping at shadows that vanish in air.
For we think joy is where pain must end,
But miss the truth that God can mend.
It’s not in the absence of sorrow or strife,
That we find the fullness of abundant life.
For suffering lingers, as shadows will,
But God’s great purpose shines brighter still.
When we surrender, when we let go,
The seeds of meaning begin to grow.
In every tear, He plants His grace,
Transforming the darkness, revealing His face.
Joy is born where trust takes root,
Where faith in Him bears eternal fruit.
The pain remains, yet hope is near,
For Christ has conquered our every fear.
So rest, my friend, in His perfect will,
Though storms may rage, His love is still.
For in His hands, your trials refine,
Your a masterpiece of His grand design.
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