Lord of the Broken

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Lord, this world is so broken, so torn by the fall
My trials and weaknesses seem to crumble my faith
The mountains loom larger and the fires burn hotter,
And I look through my tears, but I can’t see Your face.
Then I see Jesus pleading, “Not My will but Yours,”
And I hear Your sweet voice say, “My grace is enough.”

Oh give me the faith
To see my pain isn’t wasted,
You’re building strength with each mountain
Refining gold in the fire.

You’re Lord of the broken
The hurting and bleeding
We’re desperately pleading
Calling Your name.
You’re Lord of the hopeless
The helpless and faithless
Who are crying to Jesus
Who is mighty to save!
You’re Lord of the broken.

      Lord, my heart is so broken, so weary with sin
I bow at Your feet again with guilt I can’t hide
The war in my soul is tearing me apart,
And I struggle and fight, but I can’t overcome.
Then I see nail-scarred hands stretched out wide to me
And open arms of love say “Forgiveness is free!”

Oh give me patience to trust
That You’re building Your kingdom
That You’re molding a masterpiece
From the shards of my life.

You’re Lord of the broken
The hurting and bleeding
We’re desperately pleading
Calling Your name.
You’re Lord of the hopeless
The helpless and faithless
Who are crying to Jesus
Who is mighty to save!
You’re Lord of the broken.

And if this clay jar must be cracked and shattered so that Your light can shine through —
And if I must die that the life You’ve put in me can blossom into something new —
Then break me and change me, and put Your light in me,
Until the whole world can see that

You’re Lord of the broken
The hurting and bleeding
We’re desperately pleading
Calling Your name.
You’re Lord of the hopeless
The helpless and faithless
Who are crying to Jesus
Who is mighty to save!
You’re Lord of the broken.

Lord, all that is broken will one day be new
This world that is groaning now will soon be set free
Your people are hopeful, expectantly waiting,
And we’re longing for You, to look on Your face.
But then we turn our eyes outward to the world that is broken,
As we turn our eyes upward to our home there with You.

Oh give us the hope
To look forward to heaven
And to pour out our lives
For this loved, dying world.

Because Lord, You were broken,
Rejected, abandoned,
Bleeding on Calvary, dying for me.
And because You were broken,
The way now is open,
The tomb now is empty
And I am set free!

Healing is possible, for Jesus, You have paid it all,
Oh Lord of the broken.


My Everlasting Father

“even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will”
— Ephesians 1:4-5
In ages past,
Eternal love took wing and flew
Determined through creation, time, and space
To me.
In grace, he flew deep in my heart,
And with unfaltering, happy voice
He called me “Child.”

For Him


for Eliza:   your wheelchair does not keep the joy of Jesus from your face.  

I danced,
The whirling, twirling song
Flowed through me, carried me along,
Applauded then the gathered throng
For me.

I leapt-
With gentle step, the floor
Below my barefoot feet was more
Sturdy then than e’er before
For me.

I fell,
And crumpled on the ground,
The doctors gave no way around
The death that me seemed to have found

I cried,
“Why God? This blow You’ve dealt
Has taken all.” Yet still I knelt.
No more alone had I e’er felt
Than then.

I knelt,
Cascading, streaming tears
Fell down. I, laying down my fears,
Unshamed gave all remaining dears
To Him.

I thrilled!
With leaping, laughing heart
Rejoiced, though still my heart did smart.
An epiphany He did impart
To me.

I saw:
The sweetest face I’d ever known
Smiled down upon me from His throne.
I danced! I danced for Him alone-
My King.

I laughed,
I smiled, I prayed, I cried,
I thanked my God that I had died
To me, and found a place to hide
In Him.

I bowed,
I thanked Him for that tree
Where Life had suffered, died for me.
The next time that I danced would be
For Him.

Let Me Live


Baby Noah miscarried at 12 weeks.  Photo from patheos.com.


This poem was written in commemoration of the 42nd anniversary of Roe v. Wade.

Since then, 58.5 million babies have been aborted.

Let us pray for mercy.
Let us pray for restoration of all that has been broken.
Let us love well these mothers and fathers who are in our lives.

Healing is found in the presence of Jesus alone.

I am dependent, but does that make me inhuman?
I am vulnerable, does that make me unalive?
A single cell may be alive, but not I?
My zygotic frame is part of you, and formed from you,
But not you.
I am me. I am fully me.
Yet I need you.

I am dependent.
I cannot live disengaged from the nourishing safety of this, my first home.
(Yet is it safe?)
Can your world’s children live so disconnected from their parent’s care?
They cannot! nor need they.
For they are protected because they are needy.
And what of me?
Does not vulnerability increase protective instinct?
Yet not for me?
Will you treat your pets like children,
And slaughter me, your own kind,
Faster than a rodent fiend inside your home?

I am defenseless.
I can do nothing for myself.
I cannot eat; I cannot breathe.
I cannot run or cry out,
I cannot scream that one caring soul would hear and rescue me.
But I can feel, be sure.
I can feel the pain of my body dismembered,
My limbs ripped apart,
My tiny infant frame dissolved.
You don’t know the horror and fright
Of that sharp messenger of pain and death
Haunting my incompletely fashioned form.
Yet in screaming… throttled anguish,
I cannot make a case for my own life.
Will no one advocate my cause? my life?
I myself will sit in the stand. Try me.
What have I done deserving death?
Simply exist? Simply come to be?
Yet does that burden lie on me?

I do not know, you say, that I am even alive.
Yet is my humanity negated by my unawares?
Let me ask you this: are you still human in your sleep?
I do not look, you say, that I am even human.
Yet even your prophets (or scientists, I should say) confess appearances deceiving.
There is more human in me than Mr. Java, Piltdown, and Peking together.
Yet their case is proposed, pleaded, evidenced,
While mine? Dismissed and undermined, assumed moot.
Is no one there to plead and fight for me?
There is enough of me to effect completely formed personhood;
A human, I tell you, with your likeness stamped upon me.
Is it truly lack of knowledge that does not know when life befits me,
Or simply chosen ignorance to keep excusing murder, oppression, sin?
Search your deepest heart and tell me still you do not know.

O cultured world,
That spurns those who offer their children on the altars of their gods,
While you offer your own on the altars of free pleasure and hidden shame.
A holocaust of worship to the gods of your own making —
Gods whose gifts only take with hands always empty.
While here in this nest I dwell, and watch the hands of infinite love
That perfectly weave together the inmost parts of my mortal frame
Halted by human wisdom claiming superiority to infinity.
Only may those hands receive me hereafter!
When yours will receive me only dead.

Does your mind see only my inconvenience?
What about my eyes?
What about my baby smiles?
My birthday parties and cake-smeared face?
Can you feel nothing but your own shame?
What of my pain? What of my joy?
Can you hear only the snide remarks of others?
Or your conscience screaming guilt to your soul?
Have you tuned out my cooing and giggles?
Oh, do not think of your gain in my death;
Ponder rather your loss.

Your arms may never hold me, but your heart will.
Your arms will ache for years when I am gone.
While my arms will never know warm embraces,
Only the cold, unfeeling touch of the doctor’s metal tongs
Shouting “Death!” to my infant ears.
My poet’s heart will never feel the sun or wind or rain,
But will you kiss them goodbye for me?
My infant ears will never entertain a lullaby,
But will you sing them anyway for me?
My artist’s hands will never paint (on walls or canvas),
But will your hands paint for me?
My will will never get to choose;
You have chosen for me.

Mother, there is one thing only I wish that I could say:
“I forgive you.”
One thing only I wish that I could ask:
“Let me live!”