what is this song deep within my soul,
this song of mysterious wonder
which I dare not sing aloud
lest fell deeds betray my heart?
leechcraft and doubt collude beyond my hearing;
they devise unholy instruments
to war against my heart,
making the unthinkable seem reasonable.
the song builds...
the war drums sound...
the clash of violence looms
in that place deep within my soul
where the song of mysterious wonder
stands off against unholy instruments
with the clash of violent warfare
in that deep place within my soul.
breaking
tears
pain
what is this song deep within my soul,
this song of mysterious wonder
which unveils the hidden parts,
exposing motives buried deeply?
it abolishes agreements with lies,
and liberates the captive.
it removes attention from self
to a proper focus on Christ.
4 May 2010 by Glen Alan Woods
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
where once was light
in twilight mist,
in shades of gray,
where once was light
in dark alone,
my heart now roams.
whispers of hate.
tendrils of fear.
where once was light
in shadows leer
memories of shame.
where has the joy
of my heart gone?
do death and grief
foretell my end?
am I lost, never to find home?
in city streets,
in dark and rain,
mocking lies sear
my heart of flesh,
now turned to stone.
enshrined in pain,
enscribed in flame,
mocking lies pierce
my heart of stone,
now grown cold.
where has the joy
of my heart gone?
do death and grief
foretell my end?
am I lost, never to find home?
or even now,
can there be hope
for an old heart like mine?
9 February 2010 by Glen Alan Woods
in shades of gray,
where once was light
in dark alone,
my heart now roams.
whispers of hate.
tendrils of fear.
where once was light
in shadows leer
memories of shame.
where has the joy
of my heart gone?
do death and grief
foretell my end?
am I lost, never to find home?
in city streets,
in dark and rain,
mocking lies sear
my heart of flesh,
now turned to stone.
enshrined in pain,
enscribed in flame,
mocking lies pierce
my heart of stone,
now grown cold.
where has the joy
of my heart gone?
do death and grief
foretell my end?
am I lost, never to find home?
or even now,
can there be hope
for an old heart like mine?
9 February 2010 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, October 30, 2009
remembering the days yet to come
I noticed the sideways glance as you passed me by, the averted eyes, the hesitation as if you weren't sure of yourself, but were struggling to come to a decision. You stopped after a few more steps, then turned around. Timidly, you approached and stooped low toward me as I sat on the cold, wet pavement with my cardboard sign leaning against my knee. I looked up and you blinked back tears. Then you gave me the sandwich and the soda you had just purchased from the subway shop. Roast Beef. Very good. And you smiled in reply to my thank you. You asked me my name and I told you. You kneeled by my side and said, "God loves you." Then I smiled, too, remembering the days yet to come.
And soon, when the time for discussing such matters is at hand, I will invite you to my side and say, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.'
You and all the other gathered saints will wonder at my words, saying, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?'"
And I will say, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."
(NRSV Matthew 5:34-40)
30 October 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
And soon, when the time for discussing such matters is at hand, I will invite you to my side and say, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.'
You and all the other gathered saints will wonder at my words, saying, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?'"
And I will say, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."
(NRSV Matthew 5:34-40)
30 October 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, April 03, 2009
late watches
the late watches attend the sojourner,
waiting, hoping, sitting quietly alone.
will there be room for slumber?
one can only lay down and hope.
open wide the heart to joy,
sing softly the ancient psalm.
a new day approaches in haste,
a fresh dawn for frightened hearts.
comfort in solace and sweet fellowship,
the nurture of Christ in community.
3 April 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
waiting, hoping, sitting quietly alone.
will there be room for slumber?
one can only lay down and hope.
open wide the heart to joy,
sing softly the ancient psalm.
a new day approaches in haste,
a fresh dawn for frightened hearts.
comfort in solace and sweet fellowship,
the nurture of Christ in community.
3 April 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Sunday, March 08, 2009
common man, remembered
he wonders why all the world
seems to pass along,
a train of seasons,
never seeing him cry out.
wizened lines etch his face,
careworn wrinkles tell of sorrow.
hands calloused with years of labor,
among the masses, yet alone.
ashes blend with silver starlight
at the dawn of hope's first song.
and then the Spirit of the Lord
falls upon him as a wave.
and he cries out Holy, Holy, Holy.
tears and shame are washed away,
private pain brought to light
in the healing song of Yahweh.
the depths of sin washed away,
righteousness raised as a standard
through Jesus Christ, the Lord.
Holy is his name.
8 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
seems to pass along,
a train of seasons,
never seeing him cry out.
wizened lines etch his face,
careworn wrinkles tell of sorrow.
hands calloused with years of labor,
among the masses, yet alone.
ashes blend with silver starlight
at the dawn of hope's first song.
and then the Spirit of the Lord
falls upon him as a wave.
and he cries out Holy, Holy, Holy.
tears and shame are washed away,
private pain brought to light
in the healing song of Yahweh.
the depths of sin washed away,
righteousness raised as a standard
through Jesus Christ, the Lord.
Holy is his name.
8 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Unbidden
Joy peeks over my right shoulder
and then hides again when I turn to
look. I don’t see her, but I suspect
her presence. She peeks over my left
shoulder; I look swiftly, but miss her,
although I do detect the scent of sunshine.
I turn around, but no one is there.
My eyes narrow. Joy giggles softly,
undetected by my ears, but teasing
the borders of my intuition.
She smiles as she notes the tic now
turning up the right corner of my
mouth. More work to do, she realizes.
She tickles me in my side. I gasp.
She falls backward, laughing, still
silent to my ears, but radiant.
I scratch the affected spot and put
my arms up to preserve my stoicism.
Both corners of my mouth now tug at
my determination. Joy grins at the challenge.
She tip toes to a point directly in front
of me. She sticks out her tongue, makes
a silly face, and giggles helplessly. A
current of fresh air washes over me,
a mixture of pure solace and healing
sunshine. Joy watches my guarded
posture melt. The defenses lower.
I begin to cry at the unbidden release
of pain. She rushes in to embrace me,
understanding, healing, a balm in
the face of many years of
loneliness.
12 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
and then hides again when I turn to
look. I don’t see her, but I suspect
her presence. She peeks over my left
shoulder; I look swiftly, but miss her,
although I do detect the scent of sunshine.
I turn around, but no one is there.
My eyes narrow. Joy giggles softly,
undetected by my ears, but teasing
the borders of my intuition.
She smiles as she notes the tic now
turning up the right corner of my
mouth. More work to do, she realizes.
She tickles me in my side. I gasp.
She falls backward, laughing, still
silent to my ears, but radiant.
I scratch the affected spot and put
my arms up to preserve my stoicism.
Both corners of my mouth now tug at
my determination. Joy grins at the challenge.
She tip toes to a point directly in front
of me. She sticks out her tongue, makes
a silly face, and giggles helplessly. A
current of fresh air washes over me,
a mixture of pure solace and healing
sunshine. Joy watches my guarded
posture melt. The defenses lower.
I begin to cry at the unbidden release
of pain. She rushes in to embrace me,
understanding, healing, a balm in
the face of many years of
loneliness.
12 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
conflict within
the waters deep within my heart prevail upon the shores afar.
distant silhouettes trace each contour of my brokenness.
mist and fire, confusion and grief, spray upon rocky crags.
hope collects like verdant tide pools,
sanctuaries of life hidden beneath the rising flood,
waiting for the new day.
silent suffering, like an errant knight, keeps watch.
none shall pass lest their quarry fade into shadow.
misplaced vigilance observes those who would bring joy,
variegated solace and woe intermingled,
protection wielded valiantly against all hope;
tragic therein is this abode!
will comfort never penetrate the defenses?
will joy seize the opportunity unleashed in the twilight,
the last glimmer of hope?
choral voices chant in sacred stillness,
hushed harmonies in counterpoint to one dissonant melody,
rising above all others in urgent proclamation.
exaudi Deus deprecationem meam intende orationi meae
a finibus terrae ad te clamavi dum anxiaretur cor meum
in petra exaltasti me deduxisti me quia factus es spes mea
turris fortitudinis a facie inimici (Psalm: 102:1-2).
11 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Friday, February 06, 2009
from the margins
i sit upon the bench
beside the quiet street.
the fountain celebrates
the whispers of the trees.
the february night
collects the mist and chill.
in answer to the rain,
the starlight disappears.
one shadow brushes past
the nearby stand of trees.
another scales the heights,
and waits expectantly.
i wonder whence they came?
i watch them patiently.
do they know i am here?
am i a wraith they see?
as in life's passages,
ever outside feel i.
yet still there is a call,
to take my cross and die
so i may ever live
for the Lord Jesus Christ.
i lay down all i am.
in him, myself i hide.
and thus he puts to rights
the world in which i live.
he turns my face to him,
his grace, he freely gives.
6 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
beside the quiet street.
the fountain celebrates
the whispers of the trees.
the february night
collects the mist and chill.
in answer to the rain,
the starlight disappears.
one shadow brushes past
the nearby stand of trees.
another scales the heights,
and waits expectantly.
i wonder whence they came?
i watch them patiently.
do they know i am here?
am i a wraith they see?
as in life's passages,
ever outside feel i.
yet still there is a call,
to take my cross and die
so i may ever live
for the Lord Jesus Christ.
i lay down all i am.
in him, myself i hide.
and thus he puts to rights
the world in which i live.
he turns my face to him,
his grace, he freely gives.
6 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, January 24, 2009
hope prevails
pain comforts its wielder with the knowledge that he is alive.
no small feat, considering the attendant opposition within.
better to desire life than give in to despair and escape.
hope prevails yet again in the dark watches of the night.
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
no small feat, considering the attendant opposition within.
better to desire life than give in to despair and escape.
hope prevails yet again in the dark watches of the night.
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
precipice
he stands on the precipice--
a knife's edge glistening in pain--
not knowing if there will be a soft landing.
the naysayers await his fall expectantly
while he risks his future and dares to dream.
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
a knife's edge glistening in pain--
not knowing if there will be a soft landing.
the naysayers await his fall expectantly
while he risks his future and dares to dream.
24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
leaning into the heartbeat
I feel the steady thrum of the heartbeat
pulsate
gently as I lean over and close my eyes.
peaceful. assuring.
A comforting counterpoint to my despair,
the heartbeat calms my fears, bringing my
heartbeat
in synch with its own; slowly, assuredly.
Dreams emerge I thought long forgotten;
memories of childhood hopes reappear,
rhythmic
songs of redemption for a call not banished.
Vivid images unveil a scroll of hope, flashing
penetrating
glimpses of that which could be; that which
is to come, should I only dare to trust
the heartbeat of the one upon whom I lean. it
pulsates
with assuring grace, causing me to open my
eyes and look into those of Jesus.
22 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
pulsate
gently as I lean over and close my eyes.
peaceful. assuring.
A comforting counterpoint to my despair,
the heartbeat calms my fears, bringing my
heartbeat
in synch with its own; slowly, assuredly.
Dreams emerge I thought long forgotten;
memories of childhood hopes reappear,
rhythmic
songs of redemption for a call not banished.
Vivid images unveil a scroll of hope, flashing
penetrating
glimpses of that which could be; that which
is to come, should I only dare to trust
the heartbeat of the one upon whom I lean. it
pulsates
with assuring grace, causing me to open my
eyes and look into those of Jesus.
22 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, September 27, 2008
fly, bird
fly, bird, o'er the windswept trees.
dance in the light of morning's first call.
rise up into the mist, beyond the failing dew,
and fly with abandon; no more care.
fly, bird, in the upper rush of air.
feel the brush of angel's wings
intermingle with holy breath,
as the Lord watches over you.
27 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
dance in the light of morning's first call.
rise up into the mist, beyond the failing dew,
and fly with abandon; no more care.
fly, bird, in the upper rush of air.
feel the brush of angel's wings
intermingle with holy breath,
as the Lord watches over you.
27 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, September 25, 2008
in silence whispering
he felt the hand on his chest, but nobody was there.
darkness engulfed the taunting shadows just beyond....
he heard the whisper in his heart and understood the words.
there would be no more delay. the time was now.
would he go? or would he stay? which would he choose?
one held life; the other death. the mockery from beyond became shrill.
but the hand remained, if for a moment.
the voice trailed off, but not without substance.
it was now, or never. live or die.
what to do? where to go? and what lay beyond in the unknown?
was life a more frightening prospect?
was death so much more inviting?
confusion spiraled in ignominy when in darkness it plunged,
interrupted only by the hand, by the voice
--in silence whispering; in holiness loving,
offering hope in the depths of despair--
of the Lord.
25 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
darkness engulfed the taunting shadows just beyond....
he heard the whisper in his heart and understood the words.
there would be no more delay. the time was now.
would he go? or would he stay? which would he choose?
one held life; the other death. the mockery from beyond became shrill.
but the hand remained, if for a moment.
the voice trailed off, but not without substance.
it was now, or never. live or die.
what to do? where to go? and what lay beyond in the unknown?
was life a more frightening prospect?
was death so much more inviting?
confusion spiraled in ignominy when in darkness it plunged,
interrupted only by the hand, by the voice
--in silence whispering; in holiness loving,
offering hope in the depths of despair--
of the Lord.
25 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, September 22, 2008
prove it
a thin wisp of smoke lifts from the discarded cigarette,
crushed but not snuffed out; another life thrown away.
buildings rise high, a testament to wealth;
their alcoves greet the homeless in the night,
until they are evicted,
made to bring cardboard and cloak out into the open.
grafitti tags mark the boundaries of violence
far below the penthouses of the affluent.
yet, high above from the 30th floor restaurant,
the city lights glitter as if unaware of the heartbreak.
meth labs in southeast,
gangland warfare in the north and in east county,
prostitution row on 82nd,
beggars lining every street corner within a forty mile radius.
and no one seems to care.
business as usual.
treat the symptoms, but not the root.
next generation lepers, kicked to the curb.
children:
without dads.
without purpose.
without mentors.
without hope.
does anyone care?
prove it.
be the dad.
give a purpose.
be a mentor.
inspire hope.
crushed but not snuffed out; another life thrown away.
buildings rise high, a testament to wealth;
their alcoves greet the homeless in the night,
until they are evicted,
made to bring cardboard and cloak out into the open.
grafitti tags mark the boundaries of violence
far below the penthouses of the affluent.
yet, high above from the 30th floor restaurant,
the city lights glitter as if unaware of the heartbreak.
meth labs in southeast,
gangland warfare in the north and in east county,
prostitution row on 82nd,
beggars lining every street corner within a forty mile radius.
and no one seems to care.
business as usual.
treat the symptoms, but not the root.
next generation lepers, kicked to the curb.
children:
without dads.
without purpose.
without mentors.
without hope.
does anyone care?
prove it.
be the dad.
give a purpose.
be a mentor.
inspire hope.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
where do dreams go
when night abides on the corners of the wind;
when whispers stride the heights of the stars;
when even silence abandons the broken heart,
I wonder
where do dreams go
to die?
when pain resounds as with gnashing teeth and fire;
when hollow echoes reply with mockery;
when all the world turns away in disdain,
I wonder
where do dreams go
to die?
when morning dawns after endless hours of pain;
when sunlight enters and greets the new day;
when birdsong filters into the hurting heart,
I wonder
where do dreams go
when they want to live?
9 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
when whispers stride the heights of the stars;
when even silence abandons the broken heart,
I wonder
where do dreams go
to die?
when pain resounds as with gnashing teeth and fire;
when hollow echoes reply with mockery;
when all the world turns away in disdain,
I wonder
where do dreams go
to die?
when morning dawns after endless hours of pain;
when sunlight enters and greets the new day;
when birdsong filters into the hurting heart,
I wonder
where do dreams go
when they want to live?
9 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Monday, June 16, 2008
of dreams forgotten
everyday a memory comes,
reminding me of dreams once shared.
silent interludes weave their tones,
a soundtrack for the imagery.
unscripted voices narrate each scene,
evoking mood; exploring the margins.
out of the lyrics there appears
a cry of hope for all the nations.
16 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
reminding me of dreams once shared.
silent interludes weave their tones,
a soundtrack for the imagery.
unscripted voices narrate each scene,
evoking mood; exploring the margins.
out of the lyrics there appears
a cry of hope for all the nations.
16 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Saturday, May 10, 2008
of mystery considered
when mystery mounts the crest of the horizon,
sleep fails the hearts of those waiting to be set free
for they wait in wondrous expectation....
will the veil be lifted?
will joy be unleashed?
will peace descend?
Oh, how I long for passion which unleashes the love of Christ.
Oh, how I pour out my heart in silent repose; yielding, crying.
when the child sits weeping in the arms of his dead mother,
war suddenly becomes personal, no longer a distant headline
for it violates the deep places of the heart....
will it ever end?
will mourning ever cease?
will peace ever renew its vows?
Oh, how I long for obedience which unleashes the compassion of Christ.
Oh, how I long to pour out my life in service to bind up the brokenness.
when hope blossoms from the womb of mystery
those who wait in expectation rejoice
and they proclaim aloud a new song....
will the world listen?
will they who hear perceive?
will the good news take root among the nations?
Oh, how I commit my life to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Oh, how I weep unashamed for love and joy with his passion unleashed.
10 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
sleep fails the hearts of those waiting to be set free
for they wait in wondrous expectation....
will the veil be lifted?
will joy be unleashed?
will peace descend?
Oh, how I long for passion which unleashes the love of Christ.
Oh, how I pour out my heart in silent repose; yielding, crying.
when the child sits weeping in the arms of his dead mother,
war suddenly becomes personal, no longer a distant headline
for it violates the deep places of the heart....
will it ever end?
will mourning ever cease?
will peace ever renew its vows?
Oh, how I long for obedience which unleashes the compassion of Christ.
Oh, how I long to pour out my life in service to bind up the brokenness.
when hope blossoms from the womb of mystery
those who wait in expectation rejoice
and they proclaim aloud a new song....
will the world listen?
will they who hear perceive?
will the good news take root among the nations?
Oh, how I commit my life to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Oh, how I weep unashamed for love and joy with his passion unleashed.
10 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
into discipleship
curious from a distance
woven into the margin
is there a way to join?
fleeing, approaching
fretting, wondering
waiting yet again
must feel safe
remain silent
voices echo
no replies
hidden
lonely
fear
sin
Cross
joy
risk
love
faith
peace
worship
goodness
meekness
fellowship
obedience
gentleness
forgiveness
self-control
discipleship
stewardship
long-suffering
righteousness
19 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
woven into the margin
is there a way to join?
fleeing, approaching
fretting, wondering
waiting yet again
must feel safe
remain silent
voices echo
no replies
hidden
lonely
fear
sin
Cross
joy
risk
love
faith
peace
worship
goodness
meekness
fellowship
obedience
gentleness
forgiveness
self-control
discipleship
stewardship
long-suffering
righteousness
19 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Welcome Home
Lay down this burden that you bear.
Chimes are calling from the songs of heaven's choir.
Sleep now in the shadow of comfort.
Angel's sing, "Welcome home."
Well done, good and faithful servant.
The Savior calls you unto his heavenly rest.
Weep not, for the time of sorrow is past.
Come and worship the King of kings.
Dance now as he wipes your tears away.
Choral anthems to his majesty are raised.
Lift your voice in glorious songs of praise.
The Lamb of God is on the throne!
Gather beside the crystal tide
With angels singing, "Holy is the Lamb!"
Join now the song of the redeemed:
"The Lamb who was slain is King of kings!"
29 November 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
Chimes are calling from the songs of heaven's choir.
Sleep now in the shadow of comfort.
Angel's sing, "Welcome home."
Well done, good and faithful servant.
The Savior calls you unto his heavenly rest.
Weep not, for the time of sorrow is past.
Come and worship the King of kings.
Dance now as he wipes your tears away.
Choral anthems to his majesty are raised.
Lift your voice in glorious songs of praise.
The Lamb of God is on the throne!
Gather beside the crystal tide
With angels singing, "Holy is the Lamb!"
Join now the song of the redeemed:
"The Lamb who was slain is King of kings!"
29 November 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
the wooden flute
the wooden flute, like whispered mist,
calls from the depths of brokenness.
with plaintive cry it fills the dawn
as echoed tendrils dance with grace.
the tones evoke remembered joy
from simpler times of childhood days.
with lilting chant they trace the past,
knowing that memories of hope will last.
the wooden flute, like whispered mist,
enshrouds the hope now long deferred
with healing songs of tender joy
and sweet fulfillment of holy desires.
all of creation joins the song,
no longer mourning; no longer sad.
together, with the wooden flute,
we sing God's praises for all he's done.
29 November 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
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