Friday, September 10, 2010

finding the Way

we're walking with broken feet
upon a path worn deep
where tears form mud
and mud fills fingernails
that cling to the slope

like mad

and we're climbing with tired feet
into the clouds of doubt
where comforts go cold
and light and shadow blur
but the echoes still call

like crazy

dare we believe our ears?
was home really hearth left behind?

dare we believe our eyes?
is there truly no up nor down?

dare we trust our hearts?
will this all get easier as we go?

we're plodding with blistered feet
along a trail laid painfully
through ages and pages
and nails and wood
where our leader hung

like a fool

and we're following with calloused feet
toward the hope of rest
with promised wisdom to guide
and promised adversity to try
all who thirst for mercy

like the sick

the sinners
called to repentance

the self-living
called to a cross

the sons and daughters
called to ask and receive

the wanderers
called Home.


  1. He is writing in us, tonight i believe. i've had his message in my heart today and several days past, and i come here blessed by the reading. your entire first stanza and like mad ... oh, this is insnae. i mean that in a good way--it convesy such feeling, such muddy hope and rawness.
    and he calls us home, is there anything more gloryful than that?

  2. the self-living, called to a cross

    why can't i get this in those hard-to-breathe moments?

    love you.