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

june rose

Wild roses bloom in June
When the car windows are wide open
They are the fragrance of the highway
They hold the hidden joy of the forest
Within five smooth fingers

Wild roses are beautiful in June
When the sun shines on us all night
And the pelicans return to the river
And the world returns to warmth
Caressed by five smooth fingers

Wild roses beckon in June
But hold me at a distance with thorns
To gather their nectar is to bleed
Love them loosely or they will wilt
In five clenched fingers

~lg

unfinshed dream

In a misty dream I saw your face
Tears blur the lines of distinction between fact and myth
And for a moment I hover, suspended between the firmaments
Then a river of salt washes to the wide, wide sea
And I go with it

We all have islands you know
And there are some waters which can never be crossed
I will set my feet down firmly on red earth
We are humans after all
. . .


~lg

Abraham again

Abraham, I’m glad I can tell you my secrets. (The trees may have ears out here, but they are always discrete.) This ancient path is perfect for sorting them out, sorting me out. I guess I want to say thanks for putting up with a straggler like me. I think I’m learning the way. I think I can make out the contours in the earth now. I think I’m learning what to take with me and what to leave behind. All my tears have evaporated, leaving tiny pillars of salt to remind me not to look back.


~lg

breaking camp

Hey Abraham, would you give me a hand with these cardboard boxes? I never knew so much stuff could come out of one little tent. I don't really want to talk about leaving yet, so let's just keep busy. Just stuff those blessings in with that pile of promises over there. If you get tired, we'll take a nap under the tamarisk tree you planted. It's big enough now to provide shade for two. Maybe God will whisper in our dreams. Isn't that just like Him?

~lg

good stuff

Just think about it:

Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.
(James 1:17, NASB)


How can we doubt His goodness? How can we not see His light every day? How can we not live in and out of thanksgiving?

~lg

Solomon, Solomon

The other day I was reading about Solomon and thinking about nursery rhymes. This is what happened:


Solomon, Solomon
King of the land
Your wisdom is golden
Your palace is grand
The temple is sparkling
And so is your smile
Your words bring you praise
On the banks of the Nile

Solomon, Solomon
King of great fame
Egypt and Sheba
Are singing your name
The fig trees are growing
To shade every man
With riches and safety
By royal command

Solomon, Solomon
Plated in gold
Your heart is divided
Your love has gone cold
Tear your fine velvet
Repent now and mourn
From splendor to ashes
The kingdom is torn


~lg

When we garden

When we garden
We remember the beauty of an Eden morning
Naked as the lilies in all their splendor
We were born with dirt under our fingernails
And we spend too much time scrubbing it off
When we should be digging with the worms
Joining our toil with God’s imagination

The violets whisper the ancient garden's song
Nodding their heads in purple chorus
Forget-me-not
Forget-me-not

~lg