Poems, rendering, and erasers

I'm listening to a new song that declares the story of Jesus... He came for the broken, the hurting, for th nations.What a Savior. He who knew no sin...became sin...for such a wretched person as I, for such a person who He knew would wander. Oh Father pull me in. Wondrous Savior, precious Jesus, Holy Holy God pull me in. Take away all imperfections. Every day renew my spirit so that I can continually come closer to you. Make me your perfect art work Lord.

I just finished watching my friend draw a portrait. From the first basic shape to the signature, I saw the facial structure change again and again as she strived to capture the age, the texture, the emotion. She had to erase the imperfections so that the portrait matched the picture she was drawing from. I sat in awe as I watched her know exactly which graphite weight to use, of each stroke of her charcoal, of each eraser mark.... there was one point when I asked her placement of something. She just smiled and assured me that one she was finished it would all fit.

I was reminded, I am Christ's workmanship...His poem (the Greek) (Eph. 2:8-10). In the same way my friend had to refine her drawing and as all artists do, there is refining in life as well. I wonder if art could speak what emotions it would express as it was continually being changed...would it be similar to the painful times the imperfections are being chipped away? similar to when I am being refined? Oh but for the day that is coming when my precious and holy Jesus returns, on that day His work in me will be complete (Phil 1:6). For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it (Heb 12:11).

Continue to erase what needs to be Father. Shape and mold me to you. Make my desires your own. Take me through these hard times so that I may be more like you on the other side (of the struggles). Oh I long for that day Jesus, to be with You perfectly.

a bomb in a china room

It's more than my thing...
Does it man they are being disobedient? Why is this such a burdened? Why do I have eyes to see this? Can I not help others see it too? I'm the bomb in a china room, shards of glass flying about the room but I am I just breaking hearts? You broke me into action. No more play Holy Spirit but how then do I make others see? I set off bombs. I'm tired of nothing happening. Why does logic work in every other situation? I don't get it. It's not about me and my passion nor you. What happened to apostolic passion? Move people. Open your eyes and see this was not give to you for you. See that people are damned. Does that not move you? Where is your pulse? Jog the memory and see a dark light weekend. Do you not remember the heap laid upon one man? Remember your closet of hidden chains...He took them. Don't you remember that day wen you were freed? Are you wearing them now...no you are still free. Well free citizen it is not liberty for you alone. Remember the faces in National Geographic, on the commercials you quickly turn to your favorite sitcom, the ones you see in the campaigns Bono supports, the faces... the beautiful faces are damned and this is my thing? My passion? They don't need to hear of liberty and love, don't worry those are just for you... I'm sure that is what the lover said too when He set you free. Pardon my sarcasm and crass speech, I'm just setting off another bomb. It's not my fault. This, glory, worship, justice, and salvation, is what is inside and your shit is setting it off. Move, this life is not about you.