Emancipation

As this saga draws to a close (or maybe, as the first lines have now been set), I feel a great release and a longing for more. It’s as though the first journey has been completed, though, unknown to the reader, the trial was merely a quest for initiation – a fire of testing. As the dross and imperfections begin to melt away, one can sense the beginnings of a new beautiful creation; purer, fairer, robust, and sure. Above all, I believe the result is Truth; a shining truth that whispers of a journey of origin and a lifetime of destiny.

The release is a part of me that needed to let go. Severing the chains that so easily entangle is a progressing idea, not a singular apprehension. Yet, for so long, I have thus treated the Hope that is right before our very eyes. May the lost hours, days, and months be forever a reminder of my blind stumbling and stubborn pride.

As to the longing: may it grow in strength. May the desire for the dawn and the will to enter into the heavenly chorus of praise and worship become a perpetual crescendo even through the fires of life’s testing. For those who are willing, and those who are weak, and those who are seeking, and those who may sink, may find hope, and His strength, answers that satisfy, and refuge from the storm. For since the Son has been born on the wings of the dawn, the Brave may sing on not still in the dark, but wrapped with shining gold, and safe in His everlasting arms. Thus: Part Two.

Emancipation

The blackened hues that paint the skies,
Now spread their falsehood far and wide,
The hope the Earth once saw with eyes,
Lies locked beneath the darkened tide.

The Sun a distant memory,
Led captive to a midnight grave,
Sees those who wait expectantly,
And burns to whips this evening Nave.

Now listen! – All with ears to hear,
The faintest voice but growing strong,
That sings a song to calm our fear,
And cancel all the debts of Wrong.

For in that voice a Power flows,
To free the captive – save the slave,
For faintly now a light that glows,
Restores the hope of weary brave.

And as the thousands join the song,
A shining fold full-fills their sight,
The Sun it glows with rays so strong,
That it could not be held by Night.

So off it threw its shackles far,
Exploding, burning pieces they,
Now watch the night, its surface marred,
By those bright stars, as some would say.

And as the wakened birds resound,
The trees now echo their reply,
Their Sun could ‘nere be kept or bound;
Free, its Hope shines full from on high.

Bound

The contrast between the existence or appearance of light and dark is as old as this world itself. The clash of the two opposites have been used as the inspiration for the authors of literally countless works of original creation including books, plays, poetry, movies, ancient manuscripts, great works of art and many other mediums of communication. The legacy of the great struggle between the darkness and the light has been played out ever since the two powers were separated on the fourth day. The celestial bodies have since that time been acting out their well-ordered play in the heavens while inspiring the imaginations of the citizens of earth to explore the heights of radiance and depths of the voluminous void created by light’s absence. As one following in the footsteps of such greatness I cannot hope to do proper justice to these lofty apprehensions. Yet, I have once again dipped my pen in an attempt to reflect upon the movements of these contrasting ideas and, I think, to express a curious analogy found between the lines and meanings of these few verses. Without further ado: Part I.

~ Jon ~

A Shackled Sun

A crimson red across the sky
The painted stripes of dying day,
Cry out in anguish: help us nigh,
Preserve the light, please make it stay.

Defiant sphere it shall not die,
Titanic struggle to remain,
Ablaze, unsunken, hanging high,
Approaching night – our sun’s dark bane.

Its glory road stretched on and on,
All day its warmth shone far and bright,
Yet as it nears the temporal con,
It fades and falls and dims its light.

The whole expanse with sorrow sighs,
Its clouds weep tears like falling rain,
From valleys echo birds’ goodbyes,
The sun is shackled; dark with pain.

Oh how the world has turned this day,
It’s seen the joys and highs and lows,
All with sun’s light that’s gone away,
Like fallen petals of a rose.

Darkened clouds spread heavy air,
Now his final glow has gone;
With baited breath Creation fair,
Awaits the singing of the Dawn.

A Temporal Voice

The Circle Trilogy by Ted Dekker illustrates how our entire lives are wrapped up in a gigantic cosmic tale of love, and dealing with the sin-created opposite, hate. It is amazing to take a step back and realize that, we're here for a purpose created by a loving God, and that, though we became imperfect and inherently flawed to a fatal degree, we may be saved from our condition because of a vital and personal love: the sacrificial love of Christ. Thus, our response to love and philosophies guiding the in which we think about, speak about and practice love become of the utmost importance.

Recently, I've had the privilage of sitting under some purely excellent teaching about the nature of love. One of the main conclusions reached by the teachers to whom I have listened has been that a totally self-denying and sacrificial love actualized by God, vibrant in our hearts, and vivid through our actions is the highest and best way in which to live our lives in regards to the character of love. That thought alone has made me stop to think more often about my own actions and the reasons behind the words I say and thoughts I think. The realization, or dawning comprehension of the true scope that love should have in one's life is incredibly powerful. A basic understand of this Agape, or unconditional love, is certainly the best place in which to begin an exploration of the other loves identified by the Greeks in their literature, love for family and friends, for self, and the...more romantic love.

I began my introduction in this manner to provide a little perspective on where I've been, so that you can understand where I'm going. I wrote this next little work in the context of the more romantic (surprised?) love that's been stirred and tapped recently. I want you, as the reader, to understand that, though I am enraptured by this love, it is not the highest love. In fact, this love isn't even possible in a pure form until one can grasp the larger picture of the unconditional and sacrificial love displayed by Christ. My passion for the subject about which I have written below originates directly from my recent turn from being trapped on my own playing field to looking upwards and seeking the face of God, His direction, and His will. And thus, I have written :-)

~ Jon ~

Heavenly Similitudes

There once was a boy,
Who lived in a world,
Like unto our own,
Whose life was just plain,
Until that one day,
Of rapture and awe.

The day had begun,
Like any Spring day,
Yet all felt more rich,
So vibrant – alive,
As if God had sung,
And World echoed back.

He trod his life’s path,
That one fine Spring day,
But tripped and fell flat,
And reddened quickly,
Then tried to explain,
His two lefted feet.

But she smiled back,
A light in her eyes,
And offered her hand,
To help him back up,
To balance his feet,
And righten his mind.

From that one day on,
Nothing was the same,
For that boy had known,
She had been special;
That he fell in love,
With earth’s one angel.

Sometimes he’d see her,
They’d cross in their paths,
He’d walk and look down,
She’d stop and just smile,
At him who she knew,
That she loved so too.

This angel of light,
The sweetest of beings,
He held in his heart,
The closest of all,
Her soul changed his life,
Forever, for good…

This earth-bound angel,
She sang like the sun,
Moved as a princess,
And told of her love,
With a smile just like,
A light on dark hills.

She made his heart leap,
And rise to a love,
That’d die for her name,
Protect her whole life,
Then’d embrace her and say,
You’re safe in my arms.

The story goes on,
Of their love and life,
Together, they were,
Eternity on;
Would that I could tell,
Their history’s path.

The ending was lost,
I’m saddened to say,
Yet, can be remade,
Through other lives too,
As he holds her close,
His angel and friend.

A Glimmer of Hope

Even the darkest of nights carries with it the hope of another brilliant morning sunrise. It's never too late for the past to be conquered by the future. Remember the strength of hope though faced with the most challenging trials of life on this earth. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.

A Painted Portal

Would that I could set these lines,
Upon a scene or painting too,
An artist speaks through brushstrokes fine,
And I upon this paper here,
Pen words to make the picture clear.

I saw the portraits brave and tall,
Of strength and beauty long they spoke,
Those landscape scenes upon the wall,
Ask, “Am I pretty can you hear,
The crashing waves or falling tear.”

For as I stood and gazed that night,
Their clouds rolled by and water lapped,
And moved to wing the birds to flight,
And catch me there just standing by,
Believing painted birds could fly.

The scene was real as real can be,
I tasted, saw and felt and touched,
The world upon this canvas sea,
And then I stated, stared and gasped –
A boy was looking back at me.

So in I drew, yet closer still,
But near enough to step right through,
The artist paints with awesome skill;
The boy had walked from whence he came,
Holding close a picture frame.

As I looked it struck me then,
I know those woods and hills and birds,
And place where I just once had been,
The painting tells the picture’s tale,
Of how a man can finally fail.

I recognized that scene full well,
It made me almost turn away,
Yet kept me staid within its spell,
Remorsing for the end I chose,
And how with grief I finally froze.

Yet still I stayed and watched in awe,
Another form take shape right there,
And you, in disbelief I saw,
My angel born in heaven,
The light within my life.

Confused by time and date and place,
I lift my head in shining sun,
And in the light I see your face,
You are the one for whom I longed,
And wish to all things I hadn’t wronged.

But you placed this frame into my hands,
Wished me, “happy birthday, love,”
Holding hands on this garden seat,
We sit side by side within the frame,
The painting is finally complete.