Broken Rod

In the hand of a King
He intended to be
This twig of an Ash or a Oak
Each living thing has a purpose, has plans
So why not a twig, a staff for a King.

The rings of a tree reflect seasons of growth
Some are grand and others are lean
Each season itself, endured to the end
Brings growth to the twig, for the King.

But what makes one strong
How can nobility be earned
Can greatness come by mere growth
Do the winds of time blow with enough strength
To make a sceptre of twigs?

Could the twig be as nothing
What matters is others, not self
Add gold and silver and all precious stone
Add carvings and leather and oil
Add more to the twig
Hide each and all faults
Make it so the twig is not seen
Please every eye
Fulfill every hope
And pray that the King never leans.

But leading does come and strength is required
Even when covered with glitter and gold
To carry a load is required of all rods
Without this, they are without hope.

So back to the place where glitter is rare
Back to the land of growth
To the hidden, the common, the lonely
It's true
To the endurance of wind and of storm
To the yearning for water, and sun and growth
To collection of mineral and oar.

Strength from within, litte glamore without
Through trial and suffering and pain
A twigs gotta do what a twigs gotta do
And this without glory or fame.

Now in the field of great Ash
In the stand of the Oaks
A million great branches are made
Each one endured time, and seasons and life
Each one was created, then made.

True growth changes things
Deep things
Down within
True growth honors life, not fame
And even the desires of twigs does change
Once matured, once endured
Connection is valued more than praise.

What was once the great goal
Is now viewed as sacrifice
What was glory is now seen as pain
To be cut off, to be removed from your place
Speaks of hardship, displeasure and shame.

To spend all our time growing to be
What in time we do not desire
Is a life that is living and seeing within
A beauty not known without pain
For the hope of some glory
turns into one's duty
When we love "what we are" more
Than what "might be".

So the rod that is chosen to support the great King
Is a rod deeply broken within
In support, never failing
In glory, no thought
In beauty and position - esteemed
Yet humbled by privilege
And mindful of life
To be broken
Held
by the King.

For no matter how glorious the palace may be
The secptue, once a rod, once a branch, once a twig
Knows it's by grace he was chosen for this
And remembers the lessons of change.


Life is only short here on earth, our other life has endless days.

I'm Better because I'm Better

Most every day I get up I try to earn some favor from God that will allow my life to be a little easier or "more blessed". At the end of most of these days I just have depression and disappointment. It is very hard work to try and get God to love you more!

With the help of an unyielding heart, I set out anew most every day. Oh now I pretend that I have my act together, I pretend to walk in grace and to live care fee under the provision of the Lord. What I truly do is act out my desired reality while inside, I live with the real me. I'm waiting for the real me to go away and the me I want to be to live.

Fear plays a major role in my life. Fear of rejection, fear of hurt, fear of failure; all work on me like a roller pin working in yeast. More than that, like a overweight half drunker sailor who is serving time in the galley by getting the bread ready. Driven by anger and filled with bitterness this sailor slaps and punches the bread, using verbal insult to get his job done. At times I feel like my inner life just knocks me around. I feel abused for a purpose. Molded into a small container and heated until I am ready to be eaten by man.

How can I live in grace and favor. I know what this cost. I know who I am. I know what I am in the very deep places of my thoughts, attitudes, emotions. Sure I have some level of the gift of self-control, that is what makes me the least bit socially acceptable. I am gifted at pretending to me a better me. Grace and favor are just to costly a gift to embrace, doing so results in humility, deep unending humility.

One of the places of greatest pain and suffering is the place that I can never earn love from God. My "manness" is empty, broken. I fail at all attempts of earning love. This is a haunting truth. For the immature it is a "so what". "Let's party and fill our lives with selfishness." "Come listen to me, I am favored by the Lord, blessed, loved, and it cost me nothing!" Why do I call them immature? Do I want them to be unhappy with me?

Where is the truth, the truths about right living with God? Where do obedience and grace meet? How can a righteous man live in righteous ways and not feast at the table of irresponsibility? There must be "a way".


Silently now I hear His voice
My unborn brother takes the lead
Like a beam of light
He over shadows me
So on the other side of me is the only dark place
Where will I cast my gaze
What will I choose for focus
The unborn One
Me
The Shadow created

I choose to see them all
To be one
To live for another
To be united in my division
To live in the space between failure and grace
The space I call "me"

Like my brother
Bread for men
That them might eat
And live