Sunday, January 31, 2010

"Every minute you are thinking of evil, you might have been thinking of good instead. Refuse to pander to a morbid interest in your own misdeeds. Pick yourself up, be sorry, shake yourself, and go on again."
-Evelyn Underhill

Thursday, January 21, 2010


You tell me that I walk upon a non-existent road,
No God of love DOES live above in a heavenly abode,
That this short life, and hard, is all there is going to be,
That there's no indication there's any more than
what we can touch and see.
(I keep walking.)

You tell me only fools believe the Bible is God's word,
That it's full of contradictions, it's pathetic and absurd,
That I should live just as I please, and trust my inner voice,
That the age-old gospel message is a much-outdated choice.
(I keep walking.)

You call to me to turn around and quit my foolish race,
That with science and with logic you can make a better case
For the school of thought that says that things just simply came to be
In a random and unguided way, coincidentally.
(I keep walking.)

You say I needn't walk so straight and narrow on my way,
That if I'd just turn aside you'd gladly join me any day,
That I'm too exclusive when I do discern what's wrong or right:
Who am I, you ask, to say that I have seen a holy light?
(I keep walking.)

I may stumble, but I'm helped by One who said He will never leave,
And it may get dark, but I have a Guide in whom I can always believe,
And it's not always easy, and not always smooth, but it's always the road for me,
For the farther I walk, the more I'm assured it's where I am meant to be.
-HJ from Jan 4, 2006
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Tuesday, January 19, 2010


I am the bleeding woman,I am the ailing leper,
I am the demon-haunted just dreaming of a helper,
Just wishing there was someone to help me with the pain.
I'd crawl and touch his dirty hem just to be made whole again.
My leprosy is inside, my bleeding is within,
And my own personal demon is my self centred sin.
So often I ignore it or hide that I'm unwell.
From my successful public face no one could ever tell.
And yet I carry with me, and may until I die,
The bleeding leprous seeker of a sympathetic eye,
Anaesthesia, or a healing, or failing all of these,
Just to know that someone hears when I cry out on my knees.
-HJ January 18, 2010
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