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Sarah Lane Dec 2018
The rising tide brings peace
Healing brokenness in this place
Sweeps and swirls and doesn’t cease
There in the depths of His grace
Holding back just on the verge
My wounds are only kissed
No fears within submerge
In merely strumming mist
Long drenched by anxiety
But completely parched beneath
My failing shelter of piety
Like a fearful sword in its sheath
Now I’m discontent just to be
Held in such a mighty hand
Longing with pride to use me
But immobile at His command
Yet grace crashes at the rubble
Each rock was a feeble attempt
To build above my trouble
No carpenter to preempt
The cross a simple design
Has stood throughout the ages
So all this mess I will resign
To redeeming force that rages
Though this awesome sea I dread
It will overcome my doubt
If by tattered wood I’m led
Until life as loss I count
I’m standing in the middle
And my strength is growing
Beyond this frame so little
Here’s where the power’s flowing
Now the risen tide of peace
Rolling calmly over my face
Sweeps, swirls and will never cease
Here in the ocean of His grace
Sarah Lane Jun 2018
When the darkness closes in
And I feel entrapped by sin
May I hold fast the sight
Of God's unfailing, guiding light
If its brilliance becomes obscure
Of its presence I'm always sure
So towards that glimmer I will crawl
Afraid to walk or I might fall
Until, at last, my eyes will see
His grace, the door that sets me free
Sarah Lane Jun 2018
You will find me here
Where I've curled up to hide
You will find me here
I'm waiting to be found
You will find me here
And stroke my hair aside
You will find me here
To share my tears with me
You will find me here
Staying until they're dry
You will find me here
Then lift my head again
You will find me here
So suddenly I'll see
You will find me here
It's your presence that I need
Sarah Lane Jul 2017
Memories are like fireflies in the dark of her loss
Where love grapples to know bounds only the spirit can cross.
I experienced the intangible breath of her soul
As it escaped and created this invisible hole.
Her small, fleeting life showed me that I can't always hold on
But precious things must be cherished even after they're gone.
A short poem about my dog, Tehya, who passed away suddenly at the age of 4.
  Apr 2017 Sarah Lane
Eleanor K
Potential is not made when you are a child,
Though, at that age, your elders will search for it.
Potential is made when you pick up a pen,
a pencil, a marker, a paintbrush,
For the first time,
Or for the millionth.

Perfection is nearly caught by a camera,
And never by the hand.
But, if paintings looked like a digital picture,
What would be the point of such expression?
If you are looking to draw with such precision,
Look and find another passion,
another hobby, another profession, another way to vent.
If you are looking to find yourself,
to find peace, to find wisdom, to find enjoyment,
Pick up your hand and take the tool.

The artist's style is found through mistake.
A style, is a lack of perfection,
to show the world through your eyes, to alter it.
What you don't understand,
You will toil over, stress over,
hate yourself over, be frustrated over.

Look away from your mistake for a moment.
What is left, is what is yours.
This will change slowly overtime,
As you become better at both strength
And weakness.
The battle between these two opponents,
Will guide your journey.
The art itself is only a mirror of reflection,
Showing all you have done, your past,
your struggles, your joys, your imperfections, your toils,
This is an artist's style.

Pick up your pen,
Your potential is now.
Sarah Lane Apr 2017
All is dark except I see
These extended arms in front of me
They are waving, trembling
I barely have the sight to see
These open hands in front of me
They are reaching, searching
I hardly have the light to see
These stretching fingers in front of me
They are straining, grasping

As I watch, how strangely familiar I find
These arms, these hands, these fingers
What could fill them
That would still them?
As I look, I realize that they’re mine
these arms, these hands, these fingers
What could hold them
That would console them?

In this darkness, am I the only one who sees
The struggle in front of me?
It is desperate, helpless

All is numb except I feel
This empty space inside of me
It is widening, deepening
I only have the sense to feel
This growing hunger inside of me
It is pressing, aching
My nerves are acute just to feel
This enduring famine inside of me
It is agonizing, deadly

This pain worsens with the sight of
These arms, these hands, these fingers
What would occupy them
That would satisfy them?
I am feeling exhausted by the fight of
These arms, these hands, these fingers
What could nourish me
That would flourish me

In this void, am I the only one aware
Of the pain inside of me?
I am in anguish, pleading

Through the darkness, I finally see
Two different hands reaching out to me
They are calloused, scarred
Closing this void, I begin to feel
Such merciful love consuming me
It is boundless, overflowing
I find new life the moment I take
These hands that defeated death for me
It is abundant, eternal

The fullest joy He freely offers with
His arms, His hands, His fingers
His love fills me
Peace stills me
His gentleness holds me
Grace consoles me
To this joy I’ll always cling with
My arms, my hands, my fingers
His presence occupies me
Truth satisfies me
His word nourishes me
Hope flourishes me

In those depths, why was I so unaware
Of Him standing right in front of me
He is my stronghold, Deliverer
Sarah Lane Apr 2017
How insulting to You, precious Lord, I have been.
My efforts are spent seeking to please merely men.
Although, they're as imperfect and lowly as I,
Yet, I’ve held their unworthy opinions too high.
When my attention should be set firmly on You,
Who appreciates all that I am and I do.
It wavers when I look into judgmental eyes
And fear of mistakes creates Your presence’ disguise.
Consuming frustration! I will never be free,
If I try to determine what they think and see.
Genuine satisfaction can only be found
After losing myself in a worship unbound.
My heart’s open to You but to man it is sealed.
Only there, my perfection through Christ is revealed.
Written in 2002 during my first year as a professional ballerina. I wanted so badly to please that it became immobilizing at times. I became more insecure and, consequently, I struggled briefly with anorexia.
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