#sanctification
Put me back in the water, I'll breathe it in,
For tears fill the water with angst and pain,
Bring forth sanctification for ready sin,
and through it might I live again
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 12:44 PM UTC
Some of them say we were split at the start
Off I go stumbling, a half-cocked Cortes
After Venus who has part of my heart
"This gold is for God," my grinning mouth says
Some of these brothers were split right in two
By saw on the rawest end of the deal
Standing right next to that heavenbound crew
Of me does this old world quite worthy feel
Some of my feelings are split as of now
I want to stand, ask, and be justified
But as indignation pulses my brow
Holy teeth rake and scrape out the inside
Perhaps I'm just grinding salt into flesh
Trying by brute force to make the two mesh
Apr 26, 2025
Apr 26, 2025 at 8:48 AM UTC
When I lay in my sheets
Still searching for sleep
I'm confronted
a fight from the gaping the deep
succumb to seduction, both tasty and cheap?
will I fall?
will my sleep still be shameless and sweet?
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 2:17 AM UTC
#
*River running..
That rushing sound in these parts
spell out the words, crystal-clear..
Tree-lined banks, giving way
to the Dark Hills, upslope
Giving way, to
granite-rocked outcroppings
giving way to elk-hidden quakeys
Surrendering their holy-huddle's
pristine stances
to tall prairie-grass, waving
wild raspberries and tall pines
And I, myself..
am surrendering also
She is watching the water, believing
That as it flows,
she will not lose herself in it
That it will not steal, but heal
That I will not rage again
within my fear
I am watching her,
watch the water
I am watching the water-- believing
That as I give of myself
further into the flow
that I will not become diffused
by humanity
By the love of man
and all of its dishonesty
and all of its diabolical treachery
Of its lack of concern,
or understanding
Or ability to break through
its own, self-centeredness
Or its need to swallow me up
into the mundane.
Her hands are in the air now,
praising..
Worshipping
the true nature of the flow,
Believing..
that I will let all of this, go
And as she wades in
I ease, back--
Retreating
up the Dark Hills, slope
Clutching tightly..
To granite-rocked outcroppings,
weeping.
Hiding in the quakeys,
among the majestic elk
Begging for the tallgrass, cover
among the wild raspberries.
Now, fully concealed
in tall pines.
Her hands
are stretched out, now..
as if hovering over the waters,
participating
While I hide from it all
While I hide, from humanity;
From the fallen, love of man
She is wading in,
Believing
.
As I am leaving;
Believing
As the cloud-hidden sky,
starts raining--
playing the most incredible, of tunes.*
#
Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 8:01 PM UTC
I broke every promise in the book,
Turned out the everlasting light;
Exchanged my smiles with bitter tongue,
I really ****** it up.
I stole every hope you placed in me,
Burnt out the fire of love;
Replaced our dreams with sleepless nights,
I truly ****** you up.
I drank away apologies to swallow my regrets,
Poured out the spirits of my shame,
Repaid your trust with shallow lies,
I know I ****** this up.
Jun 6, 2021
Jun 6, 2021 at 4:39 PM UTC
I remember...
The night my Daddy gave me his t-shirt,
And I wore it to bed
It smelled like him,
It felt like him,
It clothed me totally,
And made me feel so small
And now, it was mine!
And I loved it so...
And Daddy said to me:
"One day, you'll grow up into Daddy's t-shirt..."
But the years came and went,
And Daddy's t-shirt still didn't fit...
...More and more so,
But never perfect
And even today,
As I've become a Daddy myself,
My Daddy's t-shirt wears quite large
But it's still mine.
And it still covers me.
And I remember what Daddy said,
And this I know with all my heart:
One day, it shall fit perfectly.
.
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 1:04 AM UTC
Alas, see one is
become unworthy
to question the mysteries of
salvation and sanctification.
When the believer,
the saint
falls into sin,
he is rendered silent
before the throne of God.
The awkward tension
between friend and foe
is felt.
he asks,
"What does it mean
to be saved?"
And though try as he might,
his jaw is sealed shut;
he dares not make a sound to speak.
Silent as silent accusations
pile upon himself.
In his mind, screaming
"LORD, HAVE MERCY!"
Yet dares not draw near
to pray.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC
What amnesia is this? I can’t remember.
Can someone wake me up, September?
I know what I know, or I think I thought I did.
I see what you’ve shown me and heard what you said.
But is it in one ear and out the other?
Is short term memory loss something I suffer?
I have seen your goodness time and time again,
And that makes perfect sense why I continue to sin.
Wait, what? That doesn’t make any sense!
Yet that’s what continues to happen after repentance.
I taste and see that the Lord is good.
But I don’t see and savor Christ as I should.
I know this must change if I want to draw nearer,
So I’m starting with the man in the mirror.
He’s broken, bad luck for seven years,
Of confusion and chaos about things unclear.
A response to an altar call, where that came from I can’t say,
But did it ever come at all, if he wasn’t altered in any way?
And I’m not talking about the 3 years still at home,
I think that pertains to my 4 years on my own.
I’ve been told so much truth and studied the Word,
But all for naught because I can’t recall what I’ve heard.
I sin because I forget, and I forget because I sin,
A vicious cycle with no apparent end.
I look at myself in the mirror, and want to remember when I go,
But as soon as I leave, he’s just somebody that I used to know.
And I wish it was a fault of the mirror, of why I forget so fast,
That it was the mirror that was broken, or at least made with stained glass
Because the reflection is of someone who’s stained,
Stained with sin and a stain on his face,
Both known by him, while abstaining from grace,
Because it’s this grace that makes him feel like a disgrace,
A misfit who’s been misplaced,
Who’s misused and abused grace.
Because I know I’ve been cleaned from all my mess ups.
But still trying to apply cover-up and make-up.
Trying to cover-up sin so no one can possibly see
And trying to make-up for what I’ve done despite being set free.
I want to forget these, I’ve wanted and I’ve tried,
To remember grace and forget what I’ve applied.
That I’ve applied myself too much and I’ve applied fake-up,
Trying to fake it ‘til I make it, but making myself throw-up,
Throw up my arms and say I can’t take it anymore.
I know I can’t remember a lot but I know I’ve gone through this before.
It’s a familiar feeling, this déjà vu.
It’s a familiar feeling, this déjà vu.
That I am annoyed with my memory destroyed,
That I don’t know how to remember and I forget how to think
And my chain of thoughts has a missing link.
When did I forget how to fight sin? That loving God wasn’t a chore?
Why can’t I remember the joy he’s shown me before?
When did I forget how beautiful He is?
When did I stop saying “He is mine and I am his”?
I don’t know if I want to know, I’m scared to find out
I’m afraid to readdress my old foe of doubt.
I thought he was slain; we had a battle and he lost it.
But I guess that wasn’t the case. He’s just a skeleton in my closet.
And he’s got a bone to pick with me, some business unfinished.
He’s back for round two and this time with a vengeance.
If he wants another go, I’ll try my best
To recall what I know, and pass this history test.
So what was it before, what truth did I heed?
How can I remind myself of what I need?
I don’t know…..i guess I’m history.
I can’t remember how I last had victory.
But just because I didn’t know doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
And that right there was the lie I was trapped in.
Two years ago was more than a matter of salvation,
I was questioning exactly when I had regeneration.
Was it high school? College? Was it still to come?
I knew I had seen change but where was it from?
But someone can know if they’ve been born, even if they don’t know their birthday.
And I can apply that train of thought in a similar way.
I don’t know how to love God like I used to,
But just because I can’t remember doesn’t mean I never knew.
Things aren’t as black and white, not a matter of hot or cold.
There are such things as infernos that start to grow old.
There can be blazes that start to dwindle,
But that just means it’s time to rekindle.
God knows we are prone to forget and drift into embers
But that’s why his word instructs us to remember.
If we could always abide, he wouldn’t give us those commands,
But it’s because we fall down does he tell us to stand.
To stand firm in our faith, fixing our eyes on Jesus
To look in the mirror and think of how He sees us,
How he seized us to clean us,
To redeem us and teach us,
To tell us to remember what he’s done on the cross,
To give us solid faith, and not be a wave that is tossed.
But don’t get me wrong, amnesia can be good because even Jesus forgets
He remembers our sin no more, they’re as far as the east is from the west.
And that’s why I don’t recognize the man in the mirror.
I’m expecting to see someone who’s no longer here.
The old me is dead, a memory from the past.
He was destined to die, never meant to last.
So in this time of personal reflection,
I need to see myself through Christ’s resurrection.
My identity isn’t in all the wrong I have done.
It is a soldier, a servant, and especially a son.
If there’s one thing I want to share that I’ve learned over the years
It’s that sanctification isn’t easy, but I urge you to persevere.
We’re all on a journey, and I say don’t stop believing.
Think of the praise we will be receiving.
“well done my good and faithful servant.”
Hearing that from the one who’s love is perfect.
There will be sin and doubt, persecution and suffering,
But oh the joy that comes from being with our king!
So I encourage you to remember truth and fight the good fight,
And don’t ever forget in the dark what you’ve learned in the light.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
There is a shadow in my heart before your throne.
From a man who would dare dethrone you.
But the more he bows the more he knows.
That the shadows in my heart are not true.
The more he kneels the shadow fails
The more he sleeps the light prevails
And when he dies, all will know
He wasn't the Son just a window.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC