The Man and the Birds.

The Man and the Birds 
by Paul Harvey

The man to whom I’m going to introduce you was not a scrooge, he was a kind decent, mostly good man. Generous to his family, upright in his dealings with other men. But he just didn’t believe all that incarnation stuff which the churches proclaim at Christmas Time. It just didn’t make sense and he was too honest to pretend otherwise. He just couldn’t swallow the Jesus Story, about God coming to Earth as a man.

“I’m truly sorry to distress you,” he told his wife, “but I’m not going with you to church this Christmas Eve.” He said he’d feel like a hypocrite. That he’d much rather just stay at home, but that he would wait up for them. And so he stayed and they went to the midnight service.

Shortly after the family drove away in the car, snow began to fall. He went to the window to watch the flurries getting heavier and heavier and then went back to his fireside chair and began to read his newspaper. Minutes later he was startled by a thudding sound…Then another, and then another. Sort of a thump or a thud…At first he thought someone must be throwing snowballs against his living room window. But when he went to the front door to investigate he found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow. They’d been caught in the storm and, in a desperate search for shelter, had tried to fly through his large landscape window.

Well, he couldn’t let the poor creatures lie there and freeze, so he remembered the barn where his children stabled their pony. That would provide a warm shelter, if he could direct the birds to it.

Quickly he put on a coat, galoshes, tramped through the deepening snow to the barn. He opened the doors wide and turned on a light, but the birds did not come in. He figured food would entice them in. So he hurried back to the house, fetched bread crumbs, sprinkled them on the snow, making a trail to the yellow-lighted wide open doorway of the stable. But to his dismay, the birds ignored the bread crumbs, and continued to flap around helplessly in the snow. He tried catching them…He tried shooing them into the barn by walking around them waving his arms…Instead, they scattered in every direction, except into the warm, lighted barn.

And then, he realized that they were afraid of him. To them, he reasoned, I am a strange and terrifying creature. If only I could think of some way to let them know that they can trust me…That I am not trying to hurt them, but to help them. But how? Because any move he made tended to frighten them, confuse them. They just would not follow. They would not be led or shooed because they feared him.

“If only I could be a bird,” he thought to himself, “and mingle with them and speak their language. Then I could tell them not to be afraid. Then I could show them the way to safe, warm…to the safe warm barn. But I would have to be one of them so they could see, and hear and understand.”

At that moment the church bells began to ring. The sound reached his ears above the sounds of the wind. And he stood there listening to the bells – Adeste Fidelis – listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christmas.

And he sank to his knees in the snow.

Proof.

There is an ongoing conversation/argument in my head.  It pits 40 year old Scott against 25 year old Scott.  Maybe I'll write more about their relationship at another time.  I will say that 40 yold Scott is very hopeful, but very frustrated with 25 yold Scott.  The younger Scott secretly admires the conviction of older Scott, but easily dismisses him.

This conversation led me to a thought in the shower.  Now I have prepared a lot over the last 7 years, since coming to faith in Christ.  I have been preparing the Case for Christ, exploring every doubt, hearing (I hope) all the arguments and trying to stay open in this search for truth.  This is what struck me for the first time this morning.  For those, like young Scott, requiring proof in order to believe in God, well you couldn't do better than the story of Jesus Christ.  Young Scott would say, "I just can't believe in something I can't see."  (So arrogant and so full of denial.)  But let's explore that.  An argument against belief is because God is unseen.  So, what if he made himself seen, came to earth and proclaimed his kingdom, told us how he really felt, told us how we should really live, fulfilled 1000's of years of prophecy down to the donkey, performed signs and wonders, ruled over the molecules of water.  He gave an answer for why things are the way they are and showed us the way out and to him.  Died to seal the deal, rose to bring victory.  Wouldn't that be a pretty substantial answer to the proof we seek?  

"Well, yeah, but that was 2000 years ago, so much has been altered and corrupted since then."
Really, has it?  Is that a feeling based on reality or a hope that you are not accountable to someone other than yourself?  If anything, the distance in time should be more convincing due to the fact that the 3 recorded years of this one man has down more to change the world than any movement, any empire and any effort in history.  No one has been more examined.  No one has has more attempts to disprove.  Yet, the man remains, because he is not a man.  He is God.

Our lack of faith is not due to lack of proof.  God has revealed himself in every particle in the universe.  Our lack of faith is due to our own desire to rule.  And in order to see the true king, we must lay down our crown.  It is not his lack of existence that makes him unseen, it is our lack of vision.  

Be patient with young Scott.  He is coming along.  He has a lot of hurt and guilt to overcome.  He wants very much to assert his will.  He aches for truth and I think that will serve him well.  It's just gonna take a while.  It'll be worth it and it will happen just in time to see his whole family saved!

The Argument.

As always at this time of year, I struggle for a way to express The Gospel of Jesus Christ.  I want to present a clear and concise argument so those that don't believe may receive the peace and joy that is waiting for them.  I have studied and done my homework and found that Belief is the most logical and reasonable conclusion.  However, that is not what saved me.  What saved me was being completely broken and feeling totally hopeless and then finding that Christ had been waiting for me, pursuing me all along.  If you find that Jesus, as much as you try to dismiss him, is still present in your life, I bid you to reach out.  You will not be disappointed.  It may not be easy, but you will be made whole.  Merry Christmas

The Neighbor

I was drawn by the chaos of noise, but I stayed for the rhythm.  Most days I stand just out of sight at the tree line, peering in, hypnotized.  All of them are so focused.  The boys are hard at work, sawing, fastening, hammering.  She has more grace than they do.  She is busy and purposeful.  They are all in sync, all with determination.  He, however, is something more: something inspired or possessed, I don’t know which.  His brow is like a great cracked cliff face, set forth against the wind.  His eyes look to pierce whatever he is working on.  I watch him, waiting for him to look up, take a rest, but he never does.  His arms and torso twist in a perfect motion, never changing and always achieving maximum efficiency and power.  

“Noah!” she breaks his concentration and brings him water. He attacks the water the same way as everything else.  He looks up and lingers just a moment as he gazes at her.  A quick smile, and then back to work.

I’ve been coming here for months now, and it is the same day after day.  Relentless.  And this thing they are building, I don’t know what it is, but it is massive.  It looks to be a shelter, or a great fortress, or a place of worship perhaps.  Noah is fierce, but he is a good man, if there is such a thing.  There is something about Noah’s righteousness and the structure’s simple perfection that keeps all of this from seeming like the work of a madman.  This is madness, though.  It has to be madness.  They live out here beyond the city, set apart.  They are unlike the rest of us.  I ache to be with them, at work and with purpose.  They seem to know something I do not.  They worship a different god, one God.  I admire them, I am drawn to be with them.  But at night when I am back at the fires of my own camp, with the smell of singed flesh of burnt sacrifice still lingering, I see their determined faces in my mind and I want to kill them.  I imagine hurling huge stones over my head and into their faces.  I imagine taking her, having her for my own.  These visions inflame my heart.  I become rage and lust.  Death surrounds me.  Flesh surrounds me.  Whatever I want, I take.  In the morning, after a night of fitful sleep,I leave my tent with a different kind of purpose.  I try to make the flame of my heart subside by taking a woman, or taking a life: animal or otherwise.  I have sacrificed my own sons and many others to appease this flame.  I feel at times that only the destruction of Noah’s clan and Noah’s purpose can ease this.  Maybe that is my purpose on this scorched earth.  Why should he be favored, while I remain a regret to whoever created this place.  Inside me, this flame...I want to watch it all burn.

And so, every couple of days wander out into the wilderness, intent on confronting Noah.  Crushing him, destroying his family and watching the great “Ark”, as he calls it, burn.  But I take up my same position, just on the edge of the tree line, just out of sight.  I watch.  The flame subsides.  All my thoughts of destruction fade.  In the night, destruction seems like the only solution, but here in the presence of this clan, watching them work I wonder if there might be another way to be saved.  There is a a great entrance on the Ark.  I want to see what’s inside this fortress.  Is there a place for me?

As usual, I do not act on my desire for destruction.  I just watch.  

“Ham” is the restless one. There is something different about him from the others.  He seems more like me.  His work has rage in it.  While the others seem to be working towards something, his work feels like he is being driven away from something.  Unlike the others, he is prone to venture out beyond their camp, beyond his family. Maybe he is my way in.  

I linger for a while more and then go back to my tent.  I can smell the blood of tonights meal from a good distance away.  She, my companion, prepares it.  

“Where do you go?”  she asks as I enter the tent.  The rage hits me all at once.  She is used to getting hit and doesn’t flinch.  She knows the consequences of questioning me, but she still needed to know.  My fist remains clinched, but I do not strike her.  

“Noah?”  she persists.

“Yes.”  

“You must kill him?” she follows up.

“Yes.”  

“We should consult the moon tonight, it is full.”  she suggests.

I give another empty “Yes.”

The peace of watching the days work never lasts and my heart is consumed with fear and frustration.  I try to make it go away.  I take.  I take her, though she is willing.  That night we sacrifice in the moonlight.  The beats of the drums bring us to madness in the fire and moonlight.  We drink the fermented fruit and kill some more.  We are covered in blood.  We lose consciousness and that night I dream of the Ark.

In the dream I am in my same watching place.  Slowly I drift down towards the Ark.  It is still and no one else is there.  There is no sound, no wind or work.  I drift around the massive structure, with its huge planks of wood, lashed tightly together.  It is sealed with pitch, nothing can get in, not even air.  As I come close the entrance the sky begins to darken like the pitch.  Great clouds form and the sun is blocked out at midday.  I stand, quivering at the entrance.  I drift forward and look in.  Inside there is a great beam that runs across the structure.  The beam across is lashed  to one that comes up from the floor of the Ark.  I look closer.  I look up to where the two beams cross.  There is a man.  A man of sorrows bound to the beams.  He is beaten and bloodied and pierced.  He opens his eyes and looks at me.  He calls my name and says.  

“Why have you forsaken me?”

I wake up in terror, screaming at the blood that covers me.  This sacrificed blood upon my body is now putrid and the flies invade me.  I need to end this.

I will end this.  

I set off for the Ark, this time I will act.  I have my ax in hand.  As I come closer to the camp I don’t hear the work.  Have they finished?  Am I too late.  I circle the camp.  In a clearing I find Ham kneeling in the woods.  He is mumbling.  He prays, but not like the chants that my tribe uses.  He cries to the “Father”, but not Noah.

I grip my weapon, prepared to begin the end.

“Father,” Ham cries.

“Don’t make me leave this place.  There is nothing for me on that Ark.  Give me another way.  It is impossible for me to obey my father another day.  End this, end my misery.”

I decide I will answer his prayer and end his misery.

Just as I am about to strike, a voice booms through the woods.

“Son of Cain!”

It is Noah.  I turn to face him.  I can’t look him in the eye.  His fierce righteousness disables me and I fall to my knees.  His eyes pierce my heart.  His brow is like a great mountain and I shrink.  My rage is just a smoldering wick now.  

“The end is near, Son of Cain.  God, the one true God has made a way, but this world will be no more.  Your wickedness, you and your people, must be accounted for.  Your judgment is coming.  You will get the destruction you seek.  When it comes you will cry out, but the time for you to be heard by him has passed.  When it comes, you will know He is the Lord.”

In the distance I could hear the rumbling and roars of a 1000 beasts.  My heart emptied all of it’s blood into my limbs and I ran.  I thought the great rushing of these beasts was the end that Noah spoke of.  I run and run until I could run no more.  I hear screaming and after a while realize it is my own screams.  Exhausted, I  collapse.  I awake and I find myself on the edge of Great Cliffs.  “The end.”  I mutter as I drag myself the the edge of the cliff.  The sea below grows violent.  It is a great distance below, but the waves are coming closer.  The waves crash against the cliffs shaking the ground.

“The end.”

I get to my feet and back away from the cliff. Impossibly the waves reach me upon that cliff.  The sea seems to be coming for me.  When the waves recede, water from the sky begins to fall.

“The end.”

“Fire?”  I questioned myself.  I thought it would be fire.  The bright flame of destruction.  In my mind and my heart it has always been fire.  But this isn’t just about destruction.  This is a cleansing.  The earth rumbles.  I can hear the horns of the beasts in the distance.  I’m going back.  I must be cleansed, I must be saved!

“The end!”

As I come upon the place of the Ark, I am in Awe!  A great caravan of animals were making their way into the Ark.  I gasp.

“Why?”  I questioned to myself again.

Noak stood over them watching the procession from a height upon a boulder.  His family rushed around the Ark, finishing the work.  

“Why?  Why do these beasts need protected and from what?”  

The ground had become soft from the water.  It is hard to walk through.  I approach the Ark. Noah stands high above the procession and I approach him with the procession in between us.  He pierces me again with his eyes.

“What do you seek, Son of Cain?”

“Why?” is all I can put forth.

“Death is coming, the Earth is to be flooded, covered by water, erasing the sins of man.  The Ark, the Ark is a refuge from God’s Wrath.”

“What must I do to be saved?”

“Son of Cain, you have made your choice.  You have known Good and you have known Evil.  You have seen He who Creates and the one that Destroys.  Look at your own heart and tell me what you Love?”

At that moment, I became an animal, filled with fury.  I hated his righteousness and his God who made me.  I may not be saved, but neither would he.  The last of the animals had gone into the Ark.   I ran toward him and began to ascend the rock upon which he stood, the only firm ground that remained.  I then heard another roar.  Noah looked down on me, except now he looked with pity.  He pointed with his staff toward the horizon.  As I turned to look, Noah leapt into the Ark as the cubit wide door began to close.  The water from the sky fell like a waterfall.  The roar in the distance came closer.  On the horizon I saw the sea on the move.  A great mass of water moving towards me.  I scrambled to get upon the rock, to find a way into the Ark.  Desperately I cried.  My moment of repentance succumbed to a heart full of rage and as the water came near I roared back in defiance.  Faintly from the Ark, under the bellows of the beasts I could hear weeping.  The last cry for humanity.

As the wave consumes me, in anger, awe and a final understanding I declare “You are the Lord.”

Questioning...

Which question are you most likely to ask?

Does Jesus really love me?
OR
Am I capable of being loved?

How you frame the question reveals how you feel about your relationship with God.  Any distance from God will be expressed in increasing sin.  So, whether it's a tightening grip on perfectionism, increased isolation, hopelessness, anger, promiscuity, failure to steward well (time, money, body), or whatever it may be: all is an expression of your distance from your savior.  And one way to measure this gap is to get to the root.  The root is the questioning either of Jesus, or yourself.

Does Jesus really love me?  This is a question that questions whether God is really good and whether he is really personal.  Is he trustworthy?  Does he keep his promises?  This suggests that the state of the World, all the hurt is too much for God.

Am I capable of being loved?  This is a question that focuses on the self.  It also subtly suggest that God is not all powerful and not able to overcome.  Sneakily it tells us that we are bigger than God, because our loathsomeness is too much for the creator of the Universe to overcome.

All of this gets into the nature of Grace and what we deserve.  Rather than getting into the details of the Doctrine, a better route would be to look out rather than to look in.  I've asked you to consider some questions.  These questions are good for shaping your prayers.  We needn't pray for Jesus to love us and we needn't pray to be loved.  Those questions have been answered.  We need to pray for the gap that we have created.  Introspection is not the answer.  That is well covered ground.  Instead we should consider the discovery possible by seeking the Infinite Jesus.  We should consider all that we do not know about our neighbors.  We need to be less in order for him to be more and him being more is the best of all things.  In many ways, both in the Bible and in life, people come to Jesus to ask him how they should regard themselves in relation to the Kingdom of God.  His painful responses are typically, "You shouldn't regard yourselves at all!"

"What must I do to inherit eternal life?"  The Rich Man.  Mark 10:25
"Let me go bury my Father first?"  The man that said he will follow Jesus. Matthew 8:22
"Turn your other cheek, give up your clothes, lay down your life."
It nevers says in red letters, "More self-examination!"

John the Baptist not surprisingly, gets it right when his disciples were arguing about Jesus:

John 3

 An argument developed between some of John’s disciples and a certain Jew over the matter of ceremonial washing. 26 They came to John and said to him, “Rabbi, that man who was with you on the other side of the Jordan—the one you testified about—look, he is baptizing, and everyone is going to him.”

27 To this John replied, “A person can receive only what is given them from heaven. 28 You yourselves can testify that I said, ‘I am not the Messiah but am sent ahead of him.’ 29 The bride belongs to the bridegroom. The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom’s voice. That joy is mine, and it is now complete. 30 He must become greater; I must become less.”[h]

Exclusivity...

John 14

Jesus the Way to the Father

5 Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”

6 Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 7 If you really know me, you will know[b] my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

8 Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.”

9 Jesus answered: “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? 10 Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you I do not speak on my own authority. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work. 11 Believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; or at least believe on the evidence of the works themselves. 12 Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. 13 And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. 14 You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.

All religions can be wrong, but they can't all be right.  The Gospel of Jesus Christ makes demands on those who hear it.  Jesus declares that he is the only way.  This is offensive to some, but truly this is the only way that makes sense.  Truth, by nature is exclusive.  One should not be upset that Believers in Christ claim only one way to God.  You can either accept it or reject it, but you cannot ask us to present another alternative.  Either Jesus is Lord and it's his way or no way.  OR he is not, and you can go about your business.  What must not be allowed is for Jesus to be Lord and yet there is a loophole in which everyone gets saved.  To ask for this is to undermine that which we claim to believe.  And if we did that, it wouldn't be worth believing.  

When Pontius Pilate was presented with The Christ, his response was to question whether Truth existed at all.

John 18

37 “You are a king, then!” said Pilate.

Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.”

38 “What is truth?” retorted Pilate.

Good, Evil, and God.

The problem of pain and evil in determining if there is a God is more of a problem for atheists than it is for a Christian to answer.  You can look at the world and see all the hurt and therefore argue if God is good, but you cannot argue his existence by that standard.  Because if you do use a sense of justice or good and evil or morality, then you must ask where it came from?  If it is man made then it is illogical to hold God to that standard.  If it is an absolute, then we must ask by what means is it present in our consciousness.  To someone who doesn't want to believe, this feels circular.  But in order to exclude the presence of God, you must include that good and evil do not really exist, they are mere construction of evolution and culture.  And if you can look at the world and say that there is no good and there is no evil, then you have made a greater leap than you would have to make to believe that there is a God of absolutes.  From there the Christian worldview makes the most sense of why things are the way they are and what the resolution to our ache for justice and goodness is.

He Giveth More Grace...

He giveth more grace as our burdens grow greater,

He sendeth more strength as our labors increase;

To added afflictions He addeth His mercy,

To multiplied trials He multiplies peace.

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,

When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,

When we reach the end of our hoarded resources

Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

Fear not that thy need shall exceed His provision,

Our God ever yearns His resources to share;

Lean hard on the arm everlasting, availing;

The Father both thee and thy load will upbear.

His love has no limits, His grace has no measure,

His power no boundary known unto men;

For out of His infinite riches in Jesus

He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.

Annie Johnson Flint

The Bestowing.

My God, grant me:

A heart like David’s, showing,

A mind like Solomon‘s, knowing,

A faith like Abraham’s, growing, 

And a face like Moses‘, glowing.

With the ease of thy yoke, I delight in my work, 

Sweet Jesus reaping what I am sowing.

Generational.

By the light of Heaven!
How can we crave what we cannot see?
Without an authentic Absolute,
Why is it that we ache for authenticity?

Each generation is a reaction to the one that previously came to be.
I can't remember if I go boom or  X, Y, Z.
I do remember that I depended on dependency.
I felt good in fear.
I felt good with walls too big to scale
In a corrupt system too big to fail.
I felt good with consumables marketed and packaged well.
Bad things that tasted convenient,
Convenience tasted good as hell.

The sleek, the clever, the ease,
Were confirmation that I could do what I please.
There was comfort in the layers:
The distance between me and the source.
The bureaucracy insulated from fault,
The retailer protected from remorse.
It was all (intentionally) too much to take on.
Hope might have made me act, but I felt too far gone.
I felt like a boy in a grown up plastic suit:
Fully loaded, yet not equipped,
Fully endowed, yet destitute.
I put layers between the creator and me
And the world aided.
Feeling felt too scary to feel,
And I wanted the feel faded.

So my generations time is fading gone.
Yes, please let's move on.
 Now to the new perennial,
To the Z and to the Millennial.
What can a generation do when there is no one left to trust?
They take things into their own hands,
Though crumbling, they believe in rust.
No preservatives, no packaging, just unmarketable dirt,
Fair trade belt and hand made shirt.

The fuzzy crackle of the vinyl doesn't feel like a loss of fidelity.
Sweet analog truth, absent of digital reconstitution,
Gladly suffer lack of clarity to avoid the prostitution.
His pickles come from his cucumbers grown in his soil.
Vintage vinegar, rooftop dill,
His strained oil, his free range boil.
His pie cools on his window sill.
He knows the whiskey because he reaps the rye,
Imported Indian ink paints his own sky.

When I was a boy and had a bike, 10 speeds was the best you could do.
Now one fixed gear is the standard,
The oldest ideas made shiny and new.
And now why isn't it better,
Better to be more?
Because more breeds layers,
And layers numb the core.

Get to it, remove the layers.
Let transparency awaken.
Lift up the grungy
Redeem the forsaken.
Sincerity through Irony, in it's poetic, abstract best,
Is an attempt to get the over-indulged completely undressed.
Peel all the layers back,
Get to the root.
Will you find a god of your own construction?
One you built to suit?

Almost there now, one layer more to get to the real.
One big wound left to open, to get to the heal.
Our souls ache for the most basic deal,
We want it to be in our own hands,
Preferring decay to the hermetic seal.
But our efforts only take us so far,
You can't quite keep from depending on dependency
And sooner or later everyone lets you down.
Nobility gives way to the petty,
Compulsion pushes out the steady.

Everyone is soon to be distrusted.
"Are the farmer's hands dirt encrusted?
Does my coffee maker roast his own?
Are my strawberries really organically grown?
Is my wheat ground by stone?
Do my chickens have a lovely home?
Is my bag conscientiously sown?
Can I even trust the flesh of my bone?
Am I authentic?
Am I to be trusted with my beliefs?
Shall I bash myself onto the sharpness of religious coral reefs?"
Belief, Religion, so many layers to comply,
Good Lord, they obscure what they labor to magnify:
A great scaffolding making truth hard to see,
Beyond the priests, pastors, rules and liturgy.

I hunger to be sustained.
And was malnourished by what I had kneaded.
On my own, it's never enough
"More!" my soul pleaded.
"What will it take, how can I atone?"
"You tell me I can't live by bread alone!"
Yes I need something bolder, something richer,
Something that I can't quite express,
Has it always been there in this Pilgrim's Progress?
How can surrender be the answer?
How can sacrifice be true?
They are the only things that remain
Irreducible whether by passion or by fool.

Jesus.
Jesus Remains.

He was there when the world was new,
The time that our hearts remember and crave.
He was there to show us Love in sacrifice,
Victory in the grave.
He will be there again, when all Hope seems gone
And we finally cry out to a savior that has been there all along.

Marriage 2.

There is a  tightrope to be walked of protecting your spouse from the world, while still exposing the dangers of your own collective hearts.  In the Power of Christ we can overcome our desire to keep each other comfortable and instead plunge in to the dark places in order to shed light.  We willingly dig up the mess knowing we can't clean it up ourselves.  This is dependency, this is a marriage surrendered to Jesus.  Broken and beautiful, his power made perfect in our weakness.  It may not sound appealing, but it is a glorious thing to be a part of, to be witness to watching Christ pull the person you cherish and love up and to himself.

Pieces.

Pieces.  

In the cold darkness of a poorly lit room,

You seem a perfect, porcelain, purity.

Truth and beauty are real within this vessel.

But, things aren’t what they seem.

The harsh light of the world pours in,

And upon closer examination we can see the cracks.

Pits and holes, repairs

And countless imperfections,

Breaks and mends and breaks and mends.

Awkward bonding of once solid walls

Create an asymmetrical pattern.

But the beauty remains.

The harsh light fades and darkness falls.

The light of Christ sparks

And begins to burn from within.

The dim room shrinks

And the Shadows fade,

Being chased by the ever brighter light,

Finding no rest in any corner until,

Gone.

The light is piercing.

It blazes through the cracks.

The pits and holes and repairs serve to magnify.

Breaks and mends and breaks and mends,

Bends.

Jesus Christs Loving Light,

Blazes from within.

It escapes through the broken bits.

The perfect piece:

Crushed, recovered, repaired and redeemed

Makes a Mosaic, Kaleidoscopic display.

It is now the Prince’s Prism,

Refracting and reflecting,

But not distorting his beam.

Left in tact, the perfect piece could not do what you do.

It is the weakness that means beauty.

It is his Love that makes it possible.

It is my Joy to witness.

The delicate little heart of yours is fueled by and burns for Our Savior,

Jesus, For the whole world to see.