Reflected Journey
Poem
How could I have gotten myself into such a tangled mess?
How could I have imagined that I would have a place of power?
How could I have gotten so close and gone along for so long?
How could I have not seen that our plans were so different?
I thought I had it all figured out, found a way out.
I thought I would be the one who set others free.
I thought I impressed him with the boldness I displayed.
I thought I would be praised when I chose to stand up.
Instead He rapidly rebuked me, called me the ruler of evil!
Instead He called me out, the one who would deny Him.
Instead He spoke deeply to the part of me I held so dear.
Instead he targeted the edifice of my hubris that imprisoned me.
Still I tried to prove myself and lopped off the servant’s ear.
Still I cut and ran when I thought they might grab me.
Still I couldn’t just let Him be taken: I had to try and save the day.
Still I couldn’t get rid of His words burning a hole in my distorted self-confidence.
Then I snuck in with John so I could see what would happen.
Then I warmed myself by the charcoal fire to remain indistinct.
Then I was called out; in my fear I denied I knew Him three times.
Then I will forever remember His turning gaze at me; He knew.
I hid and wept bitterly in my shame and surprised weakness.
I hid, hearing the sounds of beating Him whom I called the Messiah.
I hid, watching them nail Him to the cross, heard His last cry of death.
I hid, overwhelmed in grief and shame; Why had He called me the rock?
It was three days past, morning came as did the rushing weight of grief.
It was wide-eyed breathless women keeping vigil, bursting in the door.
It was their claim that immediately dropped me to my knees.
It was John and I sprinting to the tomb and looking in; He wasn’t there!
Broken when He suddenly appeared in our locked room of hiding.
Broken when His realness confirmed Him as the Messiah.
Broken when the flood of shame rushed in from the actions of my past.
Broken when He left, I submerged in failure and confusion. Now what?
Do you know who that is by the charcoal fire? It’s Him!
Do you love me more than these? Feed my lambs.
Do you love me? Tend my sheep. Words piercing my weakened heart.
Do you love me? Feed my sheep. Wiping away my three denials. I’m still His!
Flood of grace by charcoal fire removed self-inflicted shame.
Flood of grace restored who I truly am, forever His.
Flood of grace, joy rushed in; His wounds healed mine.
Flood of grace, His last words, “Follow me”; Lord Jesus, I’m Yours!!!
Dave Neal
In his 52 years as a disciple of Jesus, Dave has always appreciated authors who could convey deep connections between the reader and the Gospel. He had urgings to write poetry but lacked the courage to attempt it. Last year he took the risk and is not looking back!
2024 Nehemiah
Dust Restored
Not left forever in the morass of choices made.
Moments of clearing, memory from promised stones laid.
Original intent lost among tumbled down covenant stones.
Memorial anchors of possession echoing, toiled ancestral bones.
Sensing shame of storied past, present beckons deep remembrance.
Temple glory of cloud, fire, dense immenseness of His presence.
Light, penetrating, holiness flickers touching margins of soul’s yearning.
Regret shouting, dancing with hope, creates a soul’s burning.
Restless longing souls cry out for joy of cleansing.
Always seeking divine pivot of prophetic exile ending.
Searching hope begs lifting weight of God’s hand.
Prayer establishing a stepping over sacred line in sand.
Longing eyes, homesick soul, long journey toward home.
Vowed vision, calming restless heart no longer to roam
Eyes set, certain of unseen, rebuild, divine restoration.
Walls, gates, towers, rebuilt skills of holy congregation.
Understand, while attacks abound, sight not lost.
Creative power, malleable plan, willingly given cost.
Distant, now present promise, chosen community realized.
Trinity’s promise fulfilled, omniscient plan materialized.
Today, turning pages, searching to reclaim my divine origination.
Carelessly discovered a cupbearer’s brokenhearted innovation.
Experiencing my exile from self-constructed, now shattered walls,
Began listening, familiar echoing, distant loving calls.
Living Stone whispered promise before world’s foundation,
Draws me forward, reminding, promised temple possession.
Earthly formed identity crushed beneath Cornerstone’s touch.
Offer dust, substance of Stone Mason’s eternal loving clutch.