Promised and Broken

I was promising, a precious promise;
Now I am simply a broken promise—
A promise not kept…
Will they say that Adonai broke His vow?
For the things they do “for Him”,
The deeds they do “in His name”,
will He not pay His “debt”?
Light of truth dispelling
the deep darkness of slumber,
It rouses me and I awaken—

So this is all that it came to be,
Living the dreams that my Maker dreamed for me;
It has come—sooner than later; a time when
Hearts and not just vows will be broken
For the promises they promised themselves,
For the dream that is about themselves
To be lofty and crowned with fame
Isn’t this anything but a game?
My eyes refused to be transfixed on what it can gain;
For my path must lead only to the glory of His name.

Though I was nursed in their bosom,
And nurtured in their womb,
I am not theirs.
If I could forfeit my life for them
to have theirs, why wouldn’t I?
But I am not my own, I was bought at a price;
I was ransomed with the most precious life.
I am not the captain of my soul;
Rather, I am the captive of Him
who has freed and gave me all.

Paralyzed, it seems I can’t move on,
Yet neither can I go back—I’m too far gone.
I’m kindled, I’m stoked
Let not the flames into embers be silenced
Instead, I have become a warrior
against despair and hatred;
A true lover, a blazing arrow in His quiver
A name etched in my stone forever
I, riveted and smitten
For Him, now I am truly broken.

(28 April 2006)

40 days and 11 months

Striving, spending life,
Precious breath squandered to sow strife
“Let my way prevail
Don’t mind the children, let them wail”
Pulse pounding, chasing a wind
To push their sails, make them supreme
Dragging, sinking unaware
In a mire of pain the world can’t bear
Trembling mountains, raging waters
Dying forests, sweeping tempests
While they hail there own powers
Each one wanting to make conquests

You are free, your freedom fully paid
Negotiated, dealt with in His cross
Peace talks, peace is silenced
To say how long, how loud
Must blind eyes stare and mute voices shout
Until deadened hearts awaken
And wave white flags toward heaven
Crying “here Holy One, look where You have trodden
Pour out the balm of Your comfort
The tonic of Your mercy
And once more, heal the encompassing air
Whose breath all the peoples share”

(25 April 2006)

Screenplay*

There is nothing wrong with me.

Though I sense people around me think so, aloud and in my face or quietly behind my back. I feel God beside me—leading me, holding me, accepting me…I’m at peace.

All the circumstances that He authored or that He permitted to be written in my life, I see as punctuations and exclamations interwoven in the script of the current act of my life—a play in the theater that is the world. And God is the Scriptwriter, Director, and Producer. He is also the special Audience whose approval I covet above all. The rest of the audience I also love in varying degrees. I would appreciate any approval or applause but if their “bravos” and “hurrahs” would drown my Playwright’s still small voice, the world’s cheers would ring hollow anyway and the entire point of being in a play and up a stage would become meaningless.

Who knows the Scriptwriter is also speaking specifically to some of the spectators, including my kinsmen, friends, colleagues, strangers. After all, He took part in the play in that mystery and miracle called 'reincarnation'. He entered into the lives of His actors as the Hero who rescues His people from tyranny and oppression of the enemy.

The script composed in His own hands, never fails to point out that the obscure tale narrated in this play, which is my life, is actually just a subplot (subsumed) in the unfolding magnificence of the main story—His story—the real grand theme of history, the thread that weaves together the fabric of all events, both great and little known.

The script is handed to me—the actor, one page at a time, and occasionally, one line at a time. From my limited perspective, the script sometimes baffles me, upsets, and riles me. There are instances when it stumps me why I delivered a line or rendered a scene in a manner befitting a lifetime’s worth of remorse and disappointment. But then every act and scene, every line and dialogue is subject to the Author's proofreading; I know that Adonai can write forgiveness, redemption, and grace in the following scene, act, or play. Perhaps the editing will be today, tomorrow, a few days or years from now…for I have been assured of the last act and the triumphant ending of the Story.

*(written 26 August 2006 as part of a 3-minute intuitive exercise in a writing workshop)