Jeremiah 2

From your word I heard of you,

the better lover than all the other

treasures I found in the malls and wall

street and the nearest sale.

But as you said you are as if I

found in a field ten million

billions of dollars that never ended

and multiplied by powers of ten each time

I bent to spend them. Yet better,

and more.

But being in a field and found far from home, and suburbia, and modern church, and academia, they all laughed at what I so prized

and devised to ruin my joy by decoy:

a thousand trojan horses parked

at the lot of my heart,

stealing in at night as gifts and perfumed by the best

aromatic acrobatics, the most

beautiful and sweet of them lined at the front

of these thousands of rows

of trojan faux-s.

And these are cars and homes and jobs and wives

and families and low-interest loans. Degrees and sex and sports,

multiplied again by powers of ten.

And oh! How many are, in this American heart.

Gatsby’s dream left too much empty for the filling but the horses tell me they’re always almost there.

And how beautiful they seem. The edges - crisp, and newly forged. Hair golden-brown and waving. Made with the most precise precision, all moving in at once, at night, filing in the empty space

as a car parks in the far corner of a lot in the rain at a mall.

And some time later I wake at night to

scorched floors, the boards and the doors curled up in fire.

But what of all these gifts, lined up

primed and pretty? All ablaze now

in a haze of heat and smoke that

they started in the night

of the dark

of my heart.

But as the smoke and heat increase, I feel

a cold drop of rain which is, again,

an unexpected turn in this night in the

heart of my life. Rain, now a torrent,

douses flame and rouses out the

sun from underneath a long horizon.

Dawn, and soaked, walking back field-ward

and kneeling at the feet of the treasure I had found,

which now takes the form of a man with a name known

only by himself but blazed on his

thigh and high on the crest of his head,

under a thorn-kissed crown.

“I sent the rain”, says the treasure, “And caused to burn what spurned my place in the city of your heart.”

How White?

How white, Lord when

rivers through this heart have run

thick and

black, as tar in sun bubbles slow...

"Go", you say, and "stay

no more." Somehow dark and black

befriend you; night is

as brightest day

with you.

You turn the driven snow skyward; who stands

before your cold? And sonship a means

by which black is nearest

the pale glow

of morning light.

Three

A quiet man told me once "never

say much, it will turn on you.

Become the nothing

that eats at lonely nights

alone. Better to never

say a thing."

A small boy concluded "I'll do

it all cuz doing is better than

saying nothing. Better than what

the quiet man said."

A dreamer came by and dreamed

a better life than both.

They dreamed and worked

and said nothing til

a humble man wept

in a solitary place

over all three.

Then he said to me, "I am he;

to old age, yes to gray

I carry. I have made and

will save;

will bear and will

carry."

The dreamer, disolussioned,

cut a channel in his arm

to see if blood was real, or

just a dream and the boy, now a man,

said, “how, in saying 'I am he'

are you more wonderful than me?”

Quietly, the quiet man, too old

and mute would not hear, or speak.

And I, all three, asked of

the humble man to come

for me.

Glen Eyrie, years later

Hello numerous 2010 fans. Haha, oh sarcasm. Well, it's been a few years since I've written on this here page. I'd like for writing to resume, however, though I'm not sure who might follow it. Either way, I hope it's encouraging, and that you see some of Christ in what I write.

I'm currently at the Glen right now in Colorado Springs for the CityLife planning and development team meeting, which is pretty exciting, and has been an honor to be a part of even before the start. How good our God is to give us life experiences and then subsequent memories, through which we see more of Him. Think of it: we get some of Jesus in the present - what he is doing or teaching or showing us - and that is continually moving forward in every subsequent present moment, but then he multiplies our joy by being active in our memories of those moments as we reflect. "God did this thing" is a different statement, carrying a multiplicity of different meanings than "God is doing this thing". For Joseph, as an example, God had him in prison, had him accused of rape, had him abandoned by his brothers. That's what God "was doing", but Genesis 50:20 sums it up wonderfully through the god-drenched lens of memory. "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good..."

Anyway, before I continue the waxing, I'll stop short, with the caveat that I'm probably particularly pensive (alliteration anyone?) right now because it's been a long time since I've been to the Glen, and have since been through some of the hardest but best times of my life with Jesus. Much has changed; much is the same, but it's just good to be back here and getting alone time with Him. I'll leave you with this:

"The Lord upholds all who are falling and raises up all who are bowed down. The eyes of all look to you, and you give them their food in due season.

You open your hand; you satisfy the desire of every living thing."

Psalm 145:14-16

For Melissa!

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.

Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,

Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace,

Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

They beat -- and a voice beat
More instant than the Feet --

"All things betray thee, who betrayest Me."

-The Hound of Heaven, Francis Thompson

Yes, my sister is talented.

It would appear to the untrained eye, to the ignorant buffoon, buffooning around in ignorance, that this is 'just a picture of some guy'. Well, buffoon, you giant ignoramus, you're wrong.

An Ode to Nate, a Husband.

Nathan Charles Martin
Looks like a Spartan.

He will smash and attack,
like a barracuda attack.

He takes joy in his wife,
and protects her with his life.

He will surely succeed
and will meet her need.

Where is the fight?
Nate will be alright!

Is there is monster?
Nate will smash its chompers!

All you wee ones, take heed
Nate will ride on his steed!

Shining in her beauty, his wife understands
that he could dominate the arctic lands.

How many beasts can you kill?
Well, Nate destroys more, and he will.