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a voice crying out in the postmodern wilderness

An Invitation

BEFORE THE POEM, A WORD ON MARRIAGE:

I wrote this poem about the numerous wounded marriages I've seen lately. If you're reading this and you're married, just know you have never gone too far. Your marriage is not beyond repair. Instead of staring holes into your spouse, turn your eyes upon the glory of the Lord. Weep for the sins you've committed against God and your covenant partner. Extend the grace you've been so lavishly given in Christ.

When Jesus explained how hard it was for rich people to go to heaven, it freaked the disciples out. A camel through the eye of a needle. They asked him who then can be saved, and he said this:

But Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” (Matthew 19:26)

A marriage between two sinners in a sin sick world is about as doable as a camel squeezing through a sewing needle. Two people dead in their trespasses joining lives? That's a recipe for pain. But what if those two people were given new hearts? What if over time, like two trees, their root structure begins to intertwine?

They'd be like trees planted by a stream of living water.

Water your marriage by drinking deeply from the well of God's Word. Let it pour all over you, soaking you to the bone. Pray for the Spirit's anointing on your marriage. Now go run through the hallways of your house, dripping God's grace all over the place. Pray for forgiveness and ask for it.

Marriages don't die because people fall out of love. Marriages die because people fall out of repentance.

Much love,

Brad

An Invitation

If I stand my ground
and you stand yours
where will that leave us
after the leaves turn?

If my arms hold fast
to my side, not yours
will I miss the sweetness
of your seasoning?

You have twisted my
heart inside my ribs
and I have gouged at
your cold eyes.

I consider Christ on the
cross bearing our pride,
slashed by our divide,
absorbing it all.

He did the unthinkable
and for now I cannot think
of how he will do it here,
with us.

I’ve an invitation for you
if you’ll accept it.

Take my callous hand
in your chilly fingers
and let’s go to him
and ask for help.

Let’s leave our word
weapons at the door
by the coat rack and
toss our shields.

Let’s turn our palms
upward to the King,
and close our eyes
in trust of him.

If we sit next to the fire
of his grace, perhaps
it’ll warm us enough
to feel together again.

Repentance means to
turn from, and to be honest
I think I’m going to turn
away from you.

I have been looking at
you instead of inside you
for too long, and I think
I’ve stared sin holes into you.

Here, beside the flickers
of unthinkable grace I
will turn to the Man of
Sorrows.

He knows our names
and our shames and
I am wrung out like
a rag.

Would you like a
drink from The Well?

The Gardener

A Thousand Hollow Hills