Posts by vunglaub

Living life as Child of God , walking with Jesus to see His kingdom come by the Power of the Holy Spirit. And writing of His Majesty and Glory in ALL THINGS that HE may be MAGNIFID ABOVE ALL THINGS! vunglaub@wordpress.com

My Everlasting New

I told them “time is always new when it finds its rest in you.”

I told them of days so pure yet wild , with your love so true.

How it is  lit with flashes of your Face Of never setting Rays ..

Dew drips Mercy on mornings  “Amen ” from you  oh Ancient of days.

Oh havoc of hurricanes and hate , my Enemies plead me to ” remember….”

Instead I turn in labor groan to your watch nights late in December.

I push for Glad tidings of Hope as these  Sad longings grieve to leave.

More yet more will be born Anew , Oh Lord , as with you, I push to believe!

All the while , you take my years in your  hand and thrust them into flight,

all the while you hold my face at your chest so I might become your delight!

And though I hear clocks on your wrist tick tick tock my days  to only few,

Your Open Heart will ever beat” There is Eternity for me and you !”

Father Time seems harsh to  fling  us all through such years to the Grave

But its You oh Jesus who woos me to High heaven , and guides me through this dark cave!

I love you more and more anew oh ancient one of ancient days

For Time is now swallowed by your Word and burned by its Eternal rays

I now see Our days together will be more than galaxies or stars in the sky!

I now see Your Love for me is beyond that where deepest seas lie!

Oh Ancient of Days let’s NOW plan “Whats New ” not on manmade calendar lines

For NOW my New rests in you forever, The One, I love who lives outside of time!

************************************

“I saw in the night visions, and, behold, one like the Son of man came with the clouds of heaven, and came to the Ancient of days, and they brought him near before him.”

‭‭Daniel‬ ‭7:13‬ ‭KJV‬‬

A Thanks Giving (Eucharist)

We have  no thanks to give ‘til what’s dead comes to LIFE

Our bodies code blue from a heart killed by strife.

Whats dead cannot praise ! Limp arms cannot raise!

What’s dead cannot sing!

Nor speak of a good thing!

Whats dead cannot open eyes

Or have strength of legs to rise!

Now , no thanks is there to give

Till what’s dead come to life!

We are morgues  with  doors tightly shut.

From dirt we are formed and dirt we are cut

Have mercy have mercy oh Lord let us Live!!

Let us rise from dead slumber and Thanks to you Give !

Lord have Mercy Christ Have mercy ! One breath We give today !

That your Breath May in return Blow this death away

Blow Away this Sin

Let Life return us to life again!

Let The morgue be ablaze , the door burst open.

Let Bells ring without toll as Light lets hope in. . .!

oh Son Of God, You live that We may live!

With a new heart Of thanks forever to give!

Son , You too soo dead come here to life!

Your Hands bleed red as Your body takes our strife!

Now! Thanks there is to give!

As all who are dead come to life!

Now we cannot contain or with folded arms remain.

These bodies can barely hold

this crumb of thanks our hand enfolds

Like Rivers through damns , it flows Life Afresh

and we , Giving Thanks , scream

“ we are Spirit in this Flesh”

no longer do we ask.  “ will we survive ?”

For we have Thanks to Give : for once dead we are now  alive!!!

GIVE THANKS ALL THOSE WHO LOOK UPON THE LORD IN THE LAND OF THE LIVING PSALM 27:13

Our Father’s Glory: an Introduction

Now lettest thou thy servant depart, Lord, According to thy word, in peace; For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, Which thou hast prepared before the face of all peoples; A light for revelation to the Gentiles, And the glory of thy people Israel.” Zechariah        Luke‬ ‭2:29-32‬


Faces we Remember

“ I heard your father died.” they said to me today.

I thought of the word “ died” .

My father often said “ your God has died”

And today someone said the same thing about him.

“Not everything dies” I said quickly.

When someone dies… or as we now say “ passes”, we remember. While they are alive we spend our time laughing  and complaining and arguing with them . But when they die, when they leave us to silence, we remember.

Some have memorials for those who died. Often services, or “homegoings” shouts of memory are expressed in words or tears or visions in our minds. These are all a gift for us to let us “remember”. Some, who “die” , however, slip away, slip away without anyone remembering. Their bodies are put in paupers graves or burned and contained somewhere in a government-owned yard. Yet, we all know , even the coldest atheist knows, someone once saw their face. Someone could remember them.

When my father died,two weeks ago, he had only a few friends. Mainly he had wives and girlfriends and two daughters to remember him. All his life he imagined he would be remembered. He was not unlike so many of us too who long to be remembered . Yet in his imagination it was grander than most….he wanted to be remembered for being “Lord Makemson” . He wanted to be known as a royal person who had “mastered” it all .

Like a Renaissance  man, he had invented and written and designed and performed to the level of being the ” maestro” of all things. All his close friends would call him “lord M” and so would I . It would be many years until I could call him “Daddy”. He forbid that name, but with every greeting of “Lord M” or “Make the Snake” a impish childlike grin would erupt from his otherwise always “pondering” face. He wanted to be remembered for being very great in the eyes of man.

Looking back ,  I see my father’s face. I see that  I grew up being changed every time I was around my father. Some records in journals record my mature love and others record adult years of childlike anger. A range of words   at this man who thought too much of himself and of whom I had no name to call.

He thought so much of himself that he developed among  all friends an ideology of a system of “one world order”. In the “one world order” ,he was to be the Ruler. The one and only Ruler.There would be no God, no competing “Theocracy” only His “Aristocracy” that of an Artist and Scientist. In his system, only the scientists would have faces with eyes to see. And only what the scientists saw could the artist paint. “No religion !” He would yell.

“But God still sees all and the universe is His canvas,” I would eventually be bold enough to yell back.

“Oh to hell with your God”  he would say for many years.

His face in early years red and fierce later to turn pale and pleading.

” I  will tell your God to go to hell” he would announce .

But God never went where my father told Him to go . He stayed right near my father on the porch waiting for him to come home.

Stone faces

“I still see his face” my sister texted. We last saw him lifeless , still , stonefaced. But it is not the dead alone that are “stone faced”. Many folks in our lives can become static and frozen in our mind. They stay preserved in a scene as we remember when we last saw them face to face . Away from the scene ,  we look at them in media but they don’t ever look back. Though we call the place “social ” , it is only a place where the sound is silence.

Frustrated, we tour faces like children in a hall of a wax museum. We prowl across our computers. Every face stares back , immobile frozen , from some moment far away. We  cannot make it change with a greeting. It seems No matter what you type at it,  it is only an emoji that comes back . Now even  your dearest friends  face remains the same. It’s an immovable face. One thought away from being an enemy  or idol or dead.

But in reality everybody with a  face has a face that  faces a newness every moment. We are all being changed. And though we think , “ah that is so and so “and they are “doing this and that”. At the time we say it , it is past and God. . . the Creator Of time and events … is forever making something new. Still,  we hang , we hold, we hope , that what we looked at a moment ago matches our judgement whether good or bad of someone.

And we proudly say “ oh I knew that all along about them” “yep , they are just. . . “ or “Im happy that they are. .. “ and “went . . and saw and have. . .” We seldom judge rightly. . . . much less than we ought. Much less than God created us to do. It is really because we do not see them face to face

And yet , if we do , if we do see someone face to face, we become so busy with the thing at hand that we do not see them at all. It may be dinner or church or work when we are given the chance to “ see”  . . .But here again  we are always thinking and feeling and talking. We seldom really see . We seldom really hear. We seldom are in a place where it is just us and our neighbor, loving, face to face.

And so if we cannot see our Brother ( or sister) we just might find we are far from a place where we see Our Father as well. We cannot hear or feel or see Our Father. delighting over them or us… delighting over  His children.

Soon they die. And when they “die” we wonder. . . we wonder where they are and where is Our Father in all of this.

Faces that cannot see
So, Since the dawning of Face book, folks have left their life journals and tucked them dusty and forgotten on shelves. Even if we receive journals at Christmas and holidays we now are more distracted to look at Instagram and Facebook. Always we are lured away from the joy of tearing the paper, opening the present and feeling gratitude for the person who thought enough to buy us a little space in the world .

Before us , A sweet little space to record God’s story in us. But , Distracted and wanting, like spoiled children, we quickly toss blank pages aside for the next “posted” thing. Thumbs up and thumbs roll across holiday photos and friends posts of a lives we never ever saw. Of friends we never remember hugging, Of food our families will never taste.

We think we are in a story of time. But deep down we know what we hold  with social media is an illusion . We hold a souvenir of a reality Our Father would want us to really enter and enjoy. Our Father wants us to meet Him with our hearts face to face.

So, Rising up away from the gift of  a journal , we return to “our network” and consider what others  with stone faces on screens  are doing. The journal is blank on the floor. But deep down, though we have seen many faces, we are lonely to see the FACE OF GOD in something, in someone. We want something alive and close. In the “now”  there is not one we know . We barely know ourselves. Somewhere we have lost what God intended for us to keep . To record. To remember….. To tell of His Story …To Remember in a life he has ordained since Before He ordained time.

Faces upon Faces, Posts upon Posts, we become like James says , walking away and forgetting who we are. Everything seems unreal. And when it is far away and unreal, we then become like prodigal sons who have run away from our Father’s face. We don’t even remember His face. We cannot see it smiling on the one who is sitting in front of us , we cannot hear it  we cannot believe it is real.

Our Father, God , who gave us our first blank sheet of paper to describe or draw a reflection of His Goodness waits. Though he seems like a “BabyDaddy” and we his  ‘latchkey children” being raised by a TV screen, there is something real and alive with us as a Father every moment . He has a face we cannot see.

Faces in Books
I sit now before photos and notes. Photographs and journals , as old fashioned and far away as they sound, are the next best thing to books. We all know it to be true when we hold it in our hands. We know something deep and mysterious and real may come from something bland and blank. Paper with ink. Photos with images. As trees ache, so do souls groan, for the axe, the axe of a Holy Hand to yield a better story. . . one with our name on it. One that is Alive.

“Scribbles”! My father thought it “common, trite, and close to barbaric” for me to write in a journal. While , he wrote many “great thoughts” on small spiral notebooks he ridiculed “the common folk ” writing in journals. As well , while he took many pictures, few photographs he admired. Yet often , in the last days we would delight in pictures of his ever thinning ‘European face”.

Busy through the years with “lord M’s” health and home, I did not know at the time what was beautifully unfolding. But now each journal entry, each picture,  like a presents drop in my lap waiting for me to unwrap little clues to the great treasure that was given to my dad.  I only unwrap the clues. The present was a gift only for my father, from my Father in heaven. .

I wish that I had written more clues and situations . I regret that I did not record every discourse and distress, every battle for belief, every tender shared joy of the atheist man and his “Primitive, slave, “ Christian daughter. But most times my entries would be interrupted by another. Mostly ,Jesus would enter between me and my father.  the complaint of ours turn to praise and the hurt of ours turns to health. .

“ I prefer you not disrespect me by bringing your imaginary Messiah around “ my father would say “I do not need him to be in the story of my kingdom”

My pen might dry for a moment. But with a shake soon I see I could bring my father ,” The other” around Jesus at least  in my journal . And when I did it would totally change my mind about my father on that very paper and for a moment I would REMEMBER HIM AS OUR FATHER KNEW HIM. . . for a moment I would see his face as His heavenly father saw His face . And even if , I could not, even if I were to slam my book shut in unbelief, there remained an eye in my heart opened for the impossible. There was the whisper saying ” no eye has seen no ear heard what God had prepared.”

I  begin to write this for my family and For all who call me “family. “But I write it also for any who long to believe for another, for those, like Saint Augustine’s mother ,who prayed thirty tireless years for the salvation of one.  And this is also for ones who do not want to grow weary but write to Our Lord  about their wrestling in hope. And this is for my father, my sister’s father, the writers, to bear patiently with my grammar and to hear what we share.  . a Story. .. A Story of a very GREAT GLORY that Our  Father wants us to see . . FACE TO FACE!

So at the right time, a time when we see Glory in the end was a Glory we never saw in the beginning ,we might Believe Him much more! Yes and Amen there is Something about the way Our Father created us, all of us. We continue though all time to write stories and take pictures.

Perhaps, I said to my father “ there is a story being written about you by God. What if He is not dead but a brilliant writer ? ”.what if He is the most brilliant writer whose story he wants every one to remember ? And what if His story remembered Gives Him Glory ? ( to be continued)

#praying

Could heaven on earth be right now  held at  bay

As the devil sends  dirt into  these empty jars of clay?

As keys and fingers agree “i’ll pray, Prayin, #Pray

But souls of our flesh cannot bend knee to obey !

Are there not angels and saints reviewing this score?

Can’t  someone see clear through this dim glass  door?

See we type “ prayin’ “tweet , prayin’ “text praying tap tapping 

up up up up to heavens tear flooded floor. . ?

And yet to bend to seek and to ask , is what we abhor !

Proud Preachers  preach  for the  Martha’s child  to reap .

While prophets called ” Seers” lie dead   dry,  fast asleep.

And words “pray” “prayin” “#praying” pile into a dung heap.

 See the Floodgates are damned with hypocrisy’s typed line !

 See Our Blushing seventy seven priests  turn  to resign.

See As angels  in angst await answers  divine.!

 

Oh  every way and every day I say aloud

with Solemn surrender “help me enter the cloud” 

“I’ll pray,” “I pray” ” praying” # pray “”I’ll ask the Lord”

But suddenly sitting still  in a moment  I find I am bored

What happened to the intended  petition and prayer ?

Oh God my Father “Is it without form sitting in midair?”

 

My Jesus weeps , wanting , the ruin in these dying days

sighing  and heaving as my hipocricy pings  and plays

Then ,He sees my hypocrisy sit upright in churches

He sees My lacking belief turn blessings  to  curses..

While choir girls like Me text “I’m Praying”  # praying verses  . .

 

See Day upon day tell of Satan’s cosmic feat

See a kingdom stalled because of  my defeat

See Damned  demons giggle  “horay Horray “look at her say

so sincerely “I’ll pray Ill pray ” hah ,” see her push to obey 

“Lets Whisper in her vespers and chatter away 

Do our demon duty  to “distract the Bride today” 

Yeah they say His kingdom will delay. .  horray horray”

 

Oh now how long the lonely shadows inch across the land,

as fallen angels tarnish the Bride’s  wedding band.

Our Christ crucified looks crumbled , His words gutless and gun shot.

Our Stacked Piles of promised prayers linger languish and all forgot!

And me , now Here I sit tipped typing , in this critical chair

Where I wonder of His wonder if I would now say one small prayer.

Oh my Jesus , could but one word deliver a call for your love and care?

Does the Spirit saints and angels really fly at your command?

That I may tonight bend my knocking knees , fold my flimsy hands!

That I may tonight  watch the Father send light to land?

Oh Spirit help me Cast away  all churched  vanities

and Break free from all my double minded  insanities

and cry and call  oh Father ,Son , Spirit from up high

Let me never again also speak a  great and evil  lie!

Let me be true ! Let me have zeal ! Let me be Love!

Let me call forth the flood of every gift from Above !

I pray I pray Oh God help me to pray

Let no prayer be unspoken at the close of this day

Make my soul want madly  ‘your kingdom to come’

And let not my lying Lips loose  leave  your  will undone!

Notes:

. “And he spake a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray, and not to faint;”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭18:1‬ ‭KJVA‬‬

“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.”

‭‭James‬ ‭4:17‬ ‭KJV‬‬

“Love must be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil, cling to what is good.”
‭‭Romans‬ ‭12:9‬ ‭NET‬‬

New Eve

I will not grope and grab

But Reverently RECEIVE

I will not quest or question

But Brave and Bold BELIEVE

I will not sit with noonday devils

But Run and Rescue and RETRIEVE

I will not be abandoned and barren

But Faith Filled Fruit I will CONCEIVE

I will not hold the name of harlot

I will Become the Spirit’s EVE

Notes :

“The man called his wife’s name Eve, because she was the mother of all living.”Genesis‬ ‭3:20‬ ‭ESV‬‬

“even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, for he dwells with you and will be in you.”John‬ ‭14:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

“Now it was Mary Magdalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James and the other women with them who told these things to the apostles,”Luke‬ ‭24:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Sudden

We Wait and Wait here for the Sudden

The Sudden of Of Pentecost day

For you, Oh Holy Gentleman. To come and Suddenly have Your way

We have waited and waited for this Pentecost hour.

When Love destroys Fear

And Perfect Love rises to Power.

Oh touch us now Holy Gentle Man. With Tongues of Fire. from our head to hand

Speak to us now Holy Gentle man. With roaring whispers blow sin like sand

Dress us now Holy Gentle Man.

As a Bride walking towards altar

Toward a True Covenant command.

We have waited and waited for this Pentecost hour.

When Love destroys Fear.

And Perfect Love rises to Power.

See these virtues our bridesmaids. They will be most dutiful. They stand behind us as we look to the Beautiful

See we hold Forth bouquets from fearless fortitude And tuck tight in garters Flasks Full Of Drunk Beatitudes

We have waited and waited for this Pentecost hour.

When Love destroys Fear.

And Perfect Love rises to Power.

So Holy Gentleman come present Jesus His bride.

And Lift off these scales and veils from Our eyes.

That we might Behold His Presence in hidden skies

We have waited and waited for this Pentecost hour.

When Love destroys Fear.

And Perfect Love rises to Power.

When our Tongues say I Love You. Amen amen Amen I do I do !

And we will be betrothed by the Father

To embrace only Jesus by the power of you!

Vigil notes

“The Spirit and the Bride say, “Come.” And let the one who hears say, “Come.” And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price.Revelation‬ ‭22:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

“When the day of Pentecost arrived, they were all together in one place. And SUDDENLY there came from heaven a sound like a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting.”Acts‬ ‭2:1-2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

“until the Spirit is poured upon us from on high, and the wilderness becomes a fruitful field, and the fruitful field is deemed a forest.”Isaiah‬ ‭32:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

“And the effect of righteousness will be peace, and the result of righteousness, quietness and trust forever.” Isaiah‬ ‭32:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Instrumental

“The Lord will save me, and we will play my music on stringed instruments all the days of our lives, at the house of the Lord.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭38:20‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Oh lalee oh Lalee, oh ukulele

Fear not the moth or rust!

Instead, Sit still in quiet trust.

Oh lalee oh lalee oh ukelalee

Play softly loud your wooden frame.

Tune strings of Grace to Jesus name.

My master and friend once touched my strings

He loved my sound , it made him sing

He kept me , he held me , he let my notes play

Til I was left in a closet when He was taken away

And silence sang this simple song :

Oh lalee oh Lalee, oh ukulele

Fear not the moth or rust

Instead Sit still in quiet trust

Oh lalee oh lalee oh ukelalee

Play softly loud your still wooden frame

Tune strings of Grace to Jesus name.

Sainted in wanting to play the Fathers tune

my Strings vibrated at sunrise but despaired still by noon.

No hand from above or below or between

Would lift this small frame to be heard or be seen

For only dry wood and dust and a small voice would say

Oh Lalee ,oh Lalee, oh ukulele

Fear not the moth or rust

Instead Sit still in quiet trust

Oh lalee oh lalee oh ukelalee

Play softly loud your still wooden frame

Tune strings of Grace to Jesus name.

but Suddenly sound was loud in the dark of night

When the door swung open and my frame felt light

A smaller hand than my masters but still tender and true

Lifted my neck and base past boxes clothes and shoe

She carried me happily as she softly sang

Ah lalee my Lord’s ukulele

I Fear not the moth or rust

Instead We will together play in quiet trust

Oh lalee oh lalee oh ukelalee

Play softly loud your live wooden frame

Lets Tune our strings to The Grace we have in Jesus name.

She then took me to the Father by the Spirits Hand.

And there we found a song in Jesus, not by law or command.

But, where instruments are perfect before His Radiant face.

And girls and ukuleles forever sing of songs only made by grace .

 

Note : dedicated to Destiny Wade. Destiny took the ukulele of her deceased uncle Geno, shook off the dust of death and despair ,and wrote a song . Her song was based on all she had learned  in bible study on Galatians. This way of life is what we are all called to …In this way we are “instrumental “ in His Hand. Jesus has called life and beauty and song out of us ! It is our song back to Him from Him as it comes from Grace ! We are all His instruments ….but as always , though we hear the word , it takes a child to demonstrate truth. Thankyou little sister Destiny… Keep in His Freedom and Grace as you always look to His Face!

Wings of Discernment

Oh Ravens of Satan who come to steal bread !

You have taken  Host from my soul and my head!

You have made me believe it was a mirage or myth

You’ve made me doubt that Jesus promised  “if”

I look to the right .

I look to the left.

He calls me ,He draws me

He hurries to Hide me in the  cleft !

Oh raven of Satan I was told of your way

How in these consolations your dark wings come to sway!

How they brush accusations and fears in my face!

Till I do not “Behold” but bow down in disgrace.

I look down below

I look up above

He draws ,me He calls me ,He chose me …In Love!

He looks down below

He reigns in His Love!

Oh Raven of Satan , I am aware of your force

How your wings send all things into chaos’s course!

How the wind of your flight spins days to disorder,

Till we linger and languish with lost ones who loiter !

I look to within.

I look to without .

He draws me , He calls me , He chose me to dwell

By His Body His Blood I am unashamed to tell !

He seeks me ,He keeps me ,He feeds me This bread !

He holds me He tells me I’ve nothing to Dread !

He calls me His Beloved I call Him mine !

He tells me to call to you a due word in these times

“You Liar , You Liar “ Let this Word be the wind and the swell

That sends  dark wings of ravens back to their  perches in Hell !

Reference :

” Discerning Spirits” 14 Rules of Saint Ignatius

John Chapter 6

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. IF Anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.””

‭‭John‬ ‭6:51‬ ‭

Ephesians Chapter 6

Easter Octave

 

1.

Silly Lilly ,  Look away from me

your gaze of purity will not set me free!

turn your face to the altar where you belong

where joy is real and saints write songs!

2.

Oh silly Lilly Look away from me!

Silly Lilly Look to Him who made you to “be”

turn your face lest I make you blush

or your shofar shape break this sacred hush

and all the faithful flee in a fear filled rush!

3.

Oh Silly Lilly look away from me!

Silly Lilly you may drink my tears lest they see

How I weep seeing Jesus when you look at me.

Far from me , He looks so pure , true and right

Silly Lily now  look away from me, the dark  of night!

4.
Oh Silly Lilly , you see within

I’m not like you , in this common dirt, I toil and spin…

I am tangled in roots of  doubt and grief and sin.

Oh Silly Lilly please stop your steadfast stare!

speaking to me how you too were once buried and bare!

5.

Silly Lilly did you really have the same conception?

Were you too  buried dead hoping for a resurrection?

Silly Lilly today I consider  you more and more.

But, you  look not away , you do not blush or ignore

You speak with tongues of angels as I just sit in hope to adore.

6.

Silly Lilly your stem does not break bow or bend

When He comes with blood , water, fire and wind.

Silly Lilly You keep your watch at my tearing soul

While His glimpse goes past you and I lose control.

I bend, I bow, I break beneath His unveiled scroll.

7.

Silly Lilly , Jesus is coming past your unshakable pose.

I see His walk, His way, His words, His woos and His woes.

He comes past you oh Lily of this Valley of Death below!

He comes to me a creature small grounded like a worm so low!

8.

Silly Lilly now look and see

He has come in all His purity. . . . He really is here to set me free!

Face to face on this altar I with you  belong

Where joy is real and saints write songs.

Referring to the Risen Christ and His Words

  • “Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith!”
    ‭‭Luke‬ ‭12:27-28‬ ‭ESV‬‬
    http://bible.com/59/luk.12.27-28.esv

 

 

 

 

 

Spring Picking

How small His Holy Hand

that bends our stems

from this sin rooted land .

Heavens Hand high pulled low

picks

Hollyhocks like us below .

sets us stem to stem

petal to petal pressing in

Petal to petal press and point away

from the wild

Handicapped and handpicked

like Hollyhocks gathered

we haggard harlots ,

heartless high brows , henpecked husband‘s , hostile hairdressers, high minded halfwits ,

We the assembled assemble

Like flowers set apart

now styled

Resembling resembling something beautiful but wild

Peeking and pressing for something meek and mild

Seeking now

Something strong and riled

To tear us and take us from the field of pain and dirt and strife

To rip us to grip us and hold us

as a bouquet in Jesus sight

A bouquet of beauty ,

filled with water ,

in a Holy vase of life.

How small His Holy Hand

that bends our stems

from this sin rooted land .

Heavens Hand high pulled low

picks

Hollyhocks like us below .