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I was at a stoplight yesterday thinking of my novels and writing, and how I've woven together so many words to create stories, lives and worlds, but I found myself daydreaming and marveling at all that God has created. 

I've built kingdoms of fiction and fantasy 

I've created beings from nothing 

I know their thoughts

I make them move. 

I've crowned kings and queens 

I caused betrayal and dissension 

and I've started wars and battles. 

I've built these kingdoms, and

I've torn them down. 

There are thousands of flaws 

in all I've created. 

Though I've sown together 

the words that have created 

all of these things,

I can never write enough words. 

There are trails of ink that 

swoop and sway into these poems

I write, but they'll never be enough. 

I've blotted out the imperfections 

until all that is left is everything necessary 

but I'll never make it perfect enough. 

But You, my Lord,

with words alone you spoke

all of earth into creation. 

You are perfect 

and though You've given me the gift

of creating fake worlds and people

and stringing words together 

to paint a picture 

and weaving them into a blanket so they're all connected,

to spill ink onto a page 

until it transforms into poetry,

it will never be enough,

my words will never be enough,

to fully express how thankful I am,

to fully express how much I love You,

My Savior,

and to fully describe the great lengths of Your love for me. 

My heart may overflow with words

that spill into black ink,

but Your heart overflows with love

so great that it spilled into Your blood

so my blackness would be washed as white as a blank page. 

let creation sing

"All creatures of our God and King

lift up your voices and with us sing

Oh, praise Him..."

The trees whisper of

what He's done.

The birds whistle about 

who He is.

The depths of the ocean's secrets

are none compared to the riches 

and depths of His love. 

The creatures creeping and crawling 

and howling and prowling 

on this earth,

they sing praise to Him their Creator. 

the lone wolves howl to the moon 

He hung in the heavens,

and they howl praises to Him

the whales sing their songs

in the ocean deep,

songs to their Creator. 

the birds chirp for Him 

who gave them voices to sing 

and wings to fly. 

The lions roar knowing

the mightiest of lions with 

the mightiest of manes

isn't mighty enough and

his roar isn't loud enough

to compare to Him who is mighty to save

and He who speaks, and then creates. 

The crow in the field

wants to believe that he finds

his own worm in the early morn,

but knows that his Creator

is also his Provider. 

The lilies in the field,

and all flowers that bloom,

think in their vanity that they're beautiful,

but they know in their souls that 

their Creator clothed them in such splendour. 

There was gossip in the trees' whispers,

there was chatter in the birds' chirps,

there was rumour in the whales' songs

there was wonder in the wolves' bark

there was amazement in the lions' growl

for God came down from heaven 

and sent down His only son

Jesus Christ.  

It was a scandal of grace. 

Then 

there was heartbreak in the trees' sobs,

there was sadness in the birds' cries,

there was mourning in the wolves' howls

there was aching in the whales' voices,

there was grief in the lions' roars,

and darkness shrouded creation,

as the Son of God bowed His head.

And now--

there is rejoicing in the trees' breeze

there is glorifying in the birds' voices

there is celebration in the wolves' howls

there is praise in the whales' songs,

there is declaring in the lions' roars,

for this glorious act of love. 

work of Your hands

I don't think I have a lot of people that actually read this blog, but that's okay. I enjoy it anyway. Poetry is different than story writing for me. The stories I write--they're about other people's experiences that have never happened. But the poetry I share here--they're stories from my own experiences. 

I wrote this poem yesterday afternoon, thinking about the senior class trip I went on Saturday and the chance I had to go paddle boarding and lay down on the board and relax.

Sometimes the sight of the stars

bring me to tears. 

I look at them, and the silver moon,

and think about how God 

painted the sky that bluish black

and hung the stars so delicately

so that they would form shapes. 

He hung them in the heavens,

and to us they're countless

but the Creator of the universe

numbered the stars and 

knows them all by name. 

I had to stop. And look. 

The river was calm,

the breeze was soft,

the sun was blazing,

all was quiet. 

I realized keeping up with everyone

didn't matter 

and I stopped and looked around,

marveling at what my eyes saw before me. 

Its all Your creation,

and for a short time I was alone

to look at the work of Your hands,

in a peaceful lazy river,

where the water was cool

and the sun was hot

and the blue heron flew above

and the birds were singing

in the forest of trees surrounding me. 

There was an adventure,

and all I wanted to do was lay back

and look around simply so 

I could be surrounded by Your creation. 

I felt peace, so far from my worries,

and I forgot about everything 

that I stress over. 

And if I could have,

I would have stayed a while longer,

floating along in a peace that came

from looking at what my eyes beheld

and seeing the work of my Father's hands 

all around me. 

the start

I wanted to write a Facebook post about how I'm counting today as the start of summer and some other stuff, but it didn't work so I decided to write this poem instead. I didn't think it would end up where it went, but I'm happy that it started talking about May and whatnot and then ended where it did. 

Well hello May. 

It seems winter was too long

and spring wasn't long enough 

but I'm counting you as the start 

of summer. 

The start of something new 

and the start of what I pray will 

be an amazing new beginning 

to a new chapter. 

My God, You've brought me so far 

and looking back, I almost 

don't recognize myself. 

Who I was 

isn't who You've made me. 

September feels like so long ago 

and I think back then, 

summer felt so far away

But here it is! 

This is it. 

I remember being almost there,

but now it's practically here. 

Time has flown by 

so much has happened 

and I pray that it wasn't wasted 

and that it won't be wasted. 

Oh Father, You've carried me so far

I had my doubts when the end began,

I feared I wouldn't get here, 

and people fed my doubt,

but now, 16 days and I'll be there. 

Father, I give You all of the credit

for all that You've done

You've changed my heart,

and You've given me more than

I could've asked for.

And You daily remind me of Your love. 

Father, I thank You for how far You've carried me. 

You started something in me,

and You're continuously working 

with Your hands until Your work is done 

And I'm here,

ready to do whatever You will for my life. 

You started something last January,

It was an end...

And a start. 

Oh, my God, so much has happened

between then and now 

And I don't know where I'd be.

If I had never become who You've 

changed me to be. 

When I came back to You

on that day, 

You  took me in Your arms that 

You held out to me,

it was the start 

of You working

in my heart.

Because I was a blank canvas,

needing You to paint Your picture on. 

I was an empty page,

needing You to write Your story on. 

Oh, how I was a blank slab of marble,

desperately needing my Sculptor. 

an empty page, a blank canvas, a blank slate--

Oh, how You've written Your story on my heart, 

Oh, how You've sculpted me to be the shape of 

what You want me to be,

Oh, How You've painted Your picture of

grace on what was once a blank canvas. 

Father, where I ended,

You started.