Sifting Through Ashes

In a strange way I feel a strong connection with my brothers and sisters in Japan. I've just emerged from a raging storm that has thoroughly leveled what little progress I'd made in my spiritual walk. I'm exhausted and sore from sifting through the rubble in search of something salvageable. I hear the cries in my subconcious-"You're worthless! You're such a waste!" and every day is a battle to climb out of the pit. The good news is that I am climbing out and I'm slowly starting to rebuild that which was destroyed. Amid the lies of Satan, I am yet reminded- He is still with me. I wrote this poem several years ago but I find it ironic that today I can still identify with it.

The Cross Remains

I've walked among the lilies that bloomed in spring's new birth.
I've hung my head in sorrow as I wiped away the dirt
of a few long, hard lessons traveled on unfamiliar sod.
I've cried the tears of wretched pain to a nameless, faceless God.
Of all the life I've lived 'till now and all that's still to come
I can say with perfect certainty I know that I am loved.

He speaks in silent whispers and his word is always true.
He said, "Life is hard but I am peace and I will always be with you.
I'll send my spirit in to sweep the pain of yesterday away.
When all is gone, rest well my child.
The cross will still remain.

The ashes flutter to the ground as the last spark disappears.
Now all that's left is a thick dust signaling the end of another year.
A barren wasteland covered in white remnants of the past.
I walk along still holding on the assurance of my master's plan.
Tomorrow is a mystery, could be anybody's guess.
Will all I have go up in flames or is this part of a greater test?
I'll cling with hope to the one I know who's ways are not my own.
With confidence I'll stand before him boldly at his throne.
When everything has burned to ash and there's nothing left to say,
I cannot see the road ahead but
The cross will still remain.

The past and future dance, two lovers on a summer's eve.
Never fully embracing, they drink of time's sweet melody.
They know that when the hour comes they'll finally be as one.
For now they're happy just to serve the one who created them.
For they know that time in all its seasons will someday pass away.
When all that's left is the air they breathe
The cross will still remain.
”Have no fear, I'm never far away.
When all seems lost, look up my child.
The cross still remains.”