Jeremy Camp - Walk By Faith

trust

Trust presupposes the unseen, the unknown, and the rush of fear that accompanies them. Faith has its basis in mystery and anticipation. By faith we trust the Father has good gifts, and that at just the right time his heavenly lights will pierce the dusk that conceals them.

~lg

The Fourth Watch

In the fourth watch of the night
A fearful and fragile moment
Battered by waves and a contrary wind
We start to see ghosts on the sea
The timbers are shivering until one cries out
“Take courage, it is I!”

And before I know it, a miracle
Not that he walks on the sea
But that I am walking on furious waves to him
The wind is a banshee shrieking doubts
And my faith falters first in my feet
Sinking, panicking
“Lord, save me!”
The ghost becomes a man with a strong arm
A man with a strong name
God’s Son

And now in the boat he captains the wind
Calming our hearts
Till the tide of fear recedes and leaves only
Worship

~lg

Gifts of the Boreal Forest

You taught me how to look at things up close. How to get so close to something I learned its smell. Old man’s beard, cranberries frozen on the stem, the smooth grain of birch – they revealed their secrets to my curious young senses. You taught me how to stand with my eyes closed and feel the mood of the forest in the wind. You and the wind were always talking, always dancing, sometimes fighting, and you let me listen in. You taught me how to be still and silent – especially when I didn’t want to be seen by other people, but also when making friends with foxes and chickadees and pelicans. In silence I sank into a deeper knowing of all things, sinking deep into the earth itself till I felt myself slowly spinning with it. You taught me how to uncover the next season, how to smell spring before it came and know by a certain tone in the trees that old man winter was hobbling closer. You taught me how to hear music in the river, in the raindrops, even in the falling snow. You taught me to feel small under the glowing sky, but as big as the north I was part of. You taught me to throw my dreams to the distant horizon where the sun caught them and circled them around the earth on the shortest night of the year, only to hurl them back in brilliant tones of morning fire. You taught me to love, to look for magic in the common life of your hidden corners. You wrapped me in a blanket and made me your queen.

Now I find myself on a distant shore, with wonders strange and beautiful. Though your throne is far to the northwest, I pull your blanket closer and close my eyes. When I open them, your gifts are all around me again, ready to be unwrapped in red sand.


~lg

ghosts

His teachings still haunt me, following my thoughts, questioning my actions, examining my motives. They poke and stare, murmuring to themselves, at times nodding, at time furrowing their brows. I can’t shake them, but neither can I always make out what they’re saying. Perhaps if these archaic ghosts became friends I wouldn’t feel my spine tingle every time they showed up.


~lg

prayer...

... begins with a breath
and then another
inhale
exhale
a conversation, an exchange
Spirit to spirit

~lg

summer camping 2

My tent is leaking. This always seems to happen on camping trips – Jasper or Judea, makes no difference. I can’t sleep, my stomach is growling too loudly. Wish I’d brought more food, but I ran out of trail mix at the Beatitudes. I didn’t think I’d stay so long, but I’ve never heard anything like this. I wonder if the Teacher sleeps much. He and some guys were still around the fire when I called it night. I think they were bringing out the guitars and smores. Well, it’s still a night and I’m still awake. Maybe it’s true what they say – no rest for the wicked. Might as well get up and check out the stars. Bare ground is even more uncomfortable when you’re awake. Wish I’d brought a therm-a-rest.


~lg

summer camping

I’ve been camping out on the sermon’s mount
With teachings as old as the hills
The preacher-man and his strange commands
Are enough to give me the chills

But the hungry hikers and washed out bikers
Are given a place at his fire
And to the pure-hearted grace is imparted
To behold what they desire


~lg