Tag: Christ

question about making amends

by ekoileman, posted in poetry, writing

what would making amends look like or be?

would that be, clarifying the ways

in which addiction impacted my behavior toward them?

(Even though when I disclosed addiction I did not specify that.)

It seems the making direct amends is

trying to be specific with the apology,

and knowing,

and understanding,

and articulating exactly what behaviors

were not good,

and specifying an effort to do better and in what ways improvement shows,

and specifying specific ways that the addiction impacted my behavior.

I’m trying to understand

because there’s a person I know, a coworker, and others I’ve messed around

with in a bedroom sorta way.

And so I’m trying to figure out

God put those people on my heart

to make amends with.

So I’m also trying to figure out how to address that.

Because I do think they think

I’m very much together and have everything figured out and working–

and no.

Nope,

very much NO.

School days

by ekoileman, posted in poetry, Uncategorized, writing

Do you give your children keys to the shiny new

car? No, of course not.

Do you let them play with the

powerful sword? No, of course not.

Do you give them the cards to the expense

account, for the truly expensive and valuable items? No, of course not.

You don’t give that to a five year old.

You teach them with toys.

You build their

skills and their confidence

until you know that they’re ready

for the good things.

The valuable things, the rare things, the expensive things.

I feel like that is this life.

I feel like

we are currently kindergarteners waiting and learning.

Before graduating with a PhD, before going through

more education, getting better

resources and learning how to manage

the little toys we’ve been given.

When we have the little Tonka Trucks and

practice with them really well, take care of them, to see if we can actually manage a car.

It’s not quite the same. But

sometimes I think that’s what heaven will be like.

Having shown what we can actually manage

and our awards based on what we did,

getting keys to the real car, getting

keys to the expensive and valuable and the truly fun things.

Things that you can’t trust to children who are untrained, and

even when they’re trained, they’re

not quite mature enough for it yet. For now,

we aren’t quite ready

the truly Good Things.

longing for the Lamb’s feast

by ekoileman, posted in poetry, writing

getting keys to the expensive and valuable and the truly fun things.

those things belong to the Heir, to the Son.

we are not yet past the Feast of the Lamb.

How I long for that day.

I long for the feast of the Lamb. The Lamb’s Feast

I hope it will be many days. It was

the custom when He was among us, seven days I think for a wedding feast.

I want to be chosen

by ekoileman, posted in poetry, writing

I want to be chosen says the Lord,

to be picked and

chosen and

loved

with the intensity I give,

to receive it in turn,

in whatever capacity can be given.

I want to be chosen.

I don’t want to

compete.

I don’t want to

compete for your love. I don’t want

to compete for your affection.

I will

provide all you need.

I am

all you could ever want.

I want to be chosen, says the Lord.

As I have chosen

you, I also want to be

chosen in return.

It is vulnerable, and it

can be painful

but I can bear it, as I bear

you, and more.

I want to be chosen by

you My love:

My love of choice, My agape.

Chosen

by ekoileman, posted in poetry, writing

He wants to be chosen. He wants to be seen, He wants to be picked.

He wants to be our first priority.

We want to be our partner’s First priority.

And we respect the one who doesn’t choose us. We let them go their own way.

Why would God want anything different?

If He knows a different way will lead to death, Why

would He not warn us?

But he did.

He gave us that warning.

and we are judged by what we know,

by what we have heard,

We are judged

and what we have written on our hearts, we are judged.

we know,

but we choose not to listen

Separation

by ekoileman, posted in poetry, writing

I’m trying to be fed by anybody but You

I’m trying to rely on anyone but You. I’m trying–

to rely on anything for You, Jesus.

I don’t know why it feels like my sin hides me from you,

I am not my sin.

You have made me free of it.

But it still clings to me, and it separates–

it tells me it separates You and me.

But that is a lie.

Do I listen to a lie?

Or do I listen to You, my King

stone heart

by ekoileman, posted in poetry, writing

confront the stone and drill right through

hard rubble of calluses

collapse before Him.

Chips fly and sparks fry the air

as compacted heart comes apart.

the new heart transplant can be a

finicky process and the old heart rebellious,

stubborn to die.

/

the Excavator digging through the pain and grief-ite and pride-stone, riddled the old callused heart.

So much pride-stone flecks of green in black, shame stone mirrors that looks endless but lead nowhere, and sparks of delusionite illumination that only blind

the replacement is inevitable and deeply desired,

but painful — none deny it.

But to be of the Excavator’s flock a new heart is needed, required for survival.

the old one will die.

/

so stone flints and flies, freezes and fries.

The drilling and extraction continues.

lemon a busted yellow fruit

by ekoileman, posted in poetry, writing

Lemon lemon a busted sell,

a lied about item of little or no value.

i feel like that. I feel I an a lemon purchased by God.

my feelings preach this relentlessly.

/

I know this needs correction

my mind know this is a lie.

Lemon Lemon a yellow busted fruit,

meandering a jungle

unsure what happens after the next step.

wandering in random directions, drifting to old paths.

/

a worthless item— and yet!

a lemon in required for lemon-aid—most refreshing drink.

The purification operation, intensive and precise.

follow the steps, bear the fruit, be made whole and new

follow the steps, be made new and whole not sour and rotten, follow the steps oh lemon little one.

will not give up

by ekoileman, posted in poetry, writing

I have dealt with spiritual things all my life.

when they know what buttons to push, they push them relentlessly

and hard.

when the buttons they can push are fewer, and you are about to break

free, they push those buttons harder, and relentlessly.

I will not give up. I will not surrender

to my flesh. I will not give up.

I am bought for a price.

I know my value. It is beyond,

what I can conceive.

I will not give up, I will seek

my King.

I will pursue the cross and

the price that was paid for me. I will not give up, though

I fall in the mud and slide back covered

in filth. I learn better the chains that hold me, and I see

better where they are attached.

I will not give up to the process.

I am in the process of being made good I will not end that early.