application

in


I was walking with Molly to the memorial. Her dad and brother had died.
She had spent the night and I am currently in the night time rhythm of reading some cool quotes about Jesus that inspire me, so we had read a Fredrick Dougless quote that read “I prayed for twenty years but received no answer until I prayed with my legs.”

Now it was probably 1 am by the time we had calmed our giggling and crying and settled down to bed so we were pretty tired and emotionally fried as we walked to the memorial. We were quiet as we got closer.

Memorials in the park are held by getting really drunk and writing a note on something to remember them by.

“Jesus,” I began to pray “please keep everyone safe today, and keep alcohol away from this memorial.” Molly laughed. I glared at her- “what- I can pray for a miracle.” I responded. “Maybe we should start praying with our hands” she responded.
I smiled.

in

Tattoos hurt.
But they are art so we bare with it for the result.
The artist (hopefully if all went well) brags to friends about how fast and sharp he threw up the piece on your arm.
“Nah, the pain wasn’t that bad. Only 6 hours of work.” You respond to the inquiries hoping for that nod of affirmation that -yes, you are a bad ass.

Allowing Jesus to work on us hurts.
It is uncomfortable.
He may brag to the angels how great we are doing, how proud he is of us but we don’t come out looking like a bad ass, at least not to our eyes.

I am on a solitude retreat right now.
Sitting still.
Allowing God to work on me.
Show me pieces of me I never knew were there.
Lousy prison tats.
He is doing a clean up job.
And it is beautiful.
When I go home I am sure I will complain.
I won’t like the colors he chose.
It should be a little smaller or more to the right.
But that is a slam on his art.
And he only does perfect work.

So I will go back.
I will bite a sock and ask for more.
Lay out on that plastic table.
Awkward, half naked and a little scared
and ask,
What are you thinking now Jesus?
I am ready.

Tiny pricks on my skin
The ink sinks in
The blood rises
I am a masterpiece
Of my Fathers hand.

release

in

as they fallI’m reminded of their refreshing role to express deep and complex things their ability to communicate far beyond words they respond to that inside their droplets of beauty which  washover my face renew a needful heart I lose to them coming under their release they stream down with each one that falls I remember your care I know you see them they were stored for years believing they represented weakness acknowledging I have needs I need you Jesus in disbelief, mourning, joy, and sadness I need you I need you to pour from me fill me, come closer to me and move inside of me its wonderful to be reminded apart from you i cannot stand my life comes from you you alone make things right I see these things in tears not spelled out but in a mysterious way like your kingdom continue to come my tears saturate this heart that is yours and in great need

untitled

in

when nothing is left and you cant find the answers
for why things have gone and disappeared into blackness
i've tried to remain but change happens fast
too fast to notice until it's long past
trapped
etching inside are proverbs
i've been here before the static no longer bothers
fathers
cannot make life any harder
mothers
love lost to drugs
my offerings are altered
custom fit crosses that come taylor made
i've buried the hatchet reopening graves
being haunted by demons is hard to forget
i'm waiting for patience that doesn't come quick
my quest continues maybe this is as good as it gets
my clothes are still ripped from the the chain linked fence
full of incense from the bowls that were lifted
laid open and bare in the presence of drifters
the organized mislead
organic mechanics
trapped in the orbital magic of bad habits
and the ancient agreements
of those who have come to a decision
nobody asks for the life that their given
a prison surrounds the tap water with bars
we all fall apart and reopen scars

by wes

to nini

in

These are some Lyrics to a song I wrote about a girl I met on the street who reminds me of "Juno" from that movie- cute, witty, young and determined.

She came over to my house one day and we were patching some holes in her pants and talking about life and I smiled at her choice of fabric- some faux fur- to patch her jeans but knew it wouldn't stay on and I thought about how she was doing the same in her decisions in life when I knew of some (God related) fabric that could really patch things up beautifully.

To Nini

i saw your face today on the TV screen and my heart jumped

i love you Nini

your little face and your patchy jeans make me smile

and make me want to

make it all better

i wanna make it all better

Will you let me make it all better?

We can stitch your heart just like your jeans.

Will you let me make it all better?

I'll choose the fabric.

it wasn't your face today on the TV screen but my heart jumped.

i love you Nini

when i think about you i cry

and quickly move on to other subjects

you left far to fast and aren't all better

Jesus make me all better

you can stitch my heart just like her jeans

Jesus make me all better

You choose the fabric.
in

man made

that which never was
brings sadness
i made it what i wanted

and it left me sad
the perceived world 
leaves one end
reality
desperate for what i wanted
left sad by the way things are
show me what is real
as to spare this sadness
over things i wished were
bring to light
that which is real
and far beyond what i perceive

I've Walked Through the Desert Heat

in


a poem by our friend Scott Mitchell

I've walked through the desert heat
I've felt its sun blister my skin
I've shivered in the Montana snow
And even predicted my own end
I've slept with one eye open
In an alley way where junkies fix
Stolen from corporate America
Just for stupid silly kicks
I've sat for hous on city streets
Sparen for left overs and change
I've lied for the sake of lying
When the truth wouldn't hurt
I've lived a life of insanity
So illogical and absurd
And those who've tried to love me
I have simply pushed aside
Drunkenness and self loathing
Are the fortress walls in which I'd hide
Lord please take this sinner
And please save me from myself
I'm lost with no real direction
I need you Jesus an no one else
Come into my heart, Dear Lord
And teach me to walk within your light
Weaken me, for you're my only strength
Walk with me both day and night

Dawn of Day

in

This is a song by our friend Scott Mitchell

'Dawn of Day'
:chorus:
The dawn of day I miss so much
Watching the darkness melt beneath the light
Like an angels burning touch
Still somehow I can never seem to get it right
:1st verse:
So here I sit inside this cage
Lord please take this anger and rage
Hatred tries to rise up again
It's so hard once it all begins
People here that claim your name
then curse each other it's so insane
So I write my prayers in poetry
I want you not the majority
Guard me heart soul and mind
As once again I'm doing time
:2nd verse:
I heard a convict claim your love
While his knuckles still stained with blood
I guess his idea of mercy and grace
Is bruising up someone else's face
Blessings and curses fill the air
Hypocrites and liars pollute the air
It's so hard not to sit and judge
It ain't easy trying to live in love
Lord help me stand against the odds
Enemy to the world I'm a servant to God
in

I stand outside in the bright sunlight and think of God.
I think about how I want to feel Him.
How I long to be drawn into his Kingdom.
I want to know Him deep down in my bones.
I pray to know Him...but I feel nothing.
I look at brilliant red against dreary grey.
Then He speaks to me: To feel Me is to see My beauty.

The Holy Spirit speaks to me through creation and I am satisfied.

hagar's song

in

i knew i had to tell the story of how hagar fits with our life and the kids we hang with when i came across the passage a year ago in Genesis 16.

so i finally wrote a song.
u can click on the quicktime thing over to the right to hear it.
here are the words:
we are born and we're given names
she was born and she was given away
so to her that name isn't worth
anything anymore
she gave it away when she ran away
does she know that you know her name
does she know an angels on its way
now she's running away from pain
she was powerless like a slave
so she took to the highway
will you find her, will you save?
does she know that you know her name
does she know an angels on its way
you are the god who sees her
you are the god who will find her
you are the god will heals her
you are the god of the run-aways
where have you come from, where are you going?
what is your story, girl?
who sinned that she should end up this way?
who is to blame for the run-aways?

Meditation on the Stations of the Cross

in

Station #5 Simon Helps Jesus Carry His Cross (Luke 23:26)

Simon of Cyrene had no idea what that day would hold for him. He was on his way in from the country, probably had plenty of important things to do, probably had no desire to help this criminal. And yet they laid the cross of Christ upon him to carry. Now identified with this condemned one as some reviled and others lamented. Yet I imagine Simon was never the same after this interruption to his day. As his eyes met with those of a very pathetic looking man. Battered and torn and unable to carry his own cross. Probably not a savior or a king in Simon's mind. Yet as they labored under the weight of this suffering, no words exchanged, but many glances and helping hands - he encountered God. And could never have been the same after that day. Maybe haunted by that face. Maybe set free as he watched the events unfold.

And I, as I labor, encounter Christ in the "distressing disguise of the poor." I'd rather not be interrupted. I'd prefer the weight not be so heavy. But he looks back at me with eyes like flint. And I will never be the same.

Station #10 Jesus is Stripped of His Clothing (Luke 23:34)

The cross is not only a place of pain and sorrow, but of shame. They stripped from him his clothes and divided them up. All earthly chance of pride was gone. Complete vulnerability. No way to save face. He is a high priest who can sympathize.

My friends on the street are often stripped of honor and dignity. And handed shame. Living their lives in front of watching, darting eyes. Waking up on the sidewalk - their bedroom.

You know shame, Lord Christ. And you bore it. You bestow honor. You clothe in robes of righteousness. You are exalted. And you exalt your children to reign with you.

Sidewalk, Octavia Street

in

(a story shared with the congregation of First Baptist Church in July)
Outside of First Baptist, a hundred people are lined up along the sidewalk, waiting for dinner. I am talking to one of my friends waiting in line. He never misses dinner on Wednesday night. We both here yelling toward the end of the line and look up in time to see a woman swing a red milk crate and hit her boyfriend in the face. I quickly jump up and move toward the conflict. I see another friend, David Ramirez, moving in to hold her back and I expect the fight to be over before I have to do anything. As David steps in, the woman also hits him with her milk crate. Now I am close. I see her face, her rage in gritted teeth and clawing fingers. I look into her eyes and the ice cold presence of the evil one active and working in front of me freezes my blood. I am suddenly small. I am completely terrified. I hold out my hands toward her and begin to pray for peace. The woman is screaming about murder and still trying to get to her boyfriend. With my hands stretched out toward her, I begin to move her up the sidewalk away from the crowd. Still praying for peace, I feel the Spirit of the Lord first in my hands then in my whole body. I ask the woman her name. As she is yelling, she tells me her name is Marilyn, then lunges toward her boyfriend again. This continues for a few minutes. She is getting angrier and screaming louder. I am trembling, scared. Marilyn in the name of Jesus Christ I command you to be quiet. The yelling immediately stops. She begins to quietly sob as she lowers herself to the ground. Kneeling down beside her, I place my hand on her back, and continue to pray for her. I softly say, “It’s o.k. Marilyn, it’s o.k.” Suddenly, Marilyn tenses up and begins slamming her head against the wall we are resting against. Startled, I quickly hold her head in my hands and ask the Lord to free her from the oppression of the evil one. She collapses into my arms. Peace finally comes. Sobbing, she begins to tell me pieces of her life on the streets, pieces of a life lived under the wait of addiction and prostitution. She looks up from the ground, eyes filled with tears, and says between sobs, “I‘m a whore. No one will ever love me.” Breathing in deep, trying to hold back tears I say, “I love you Marilyn. I love you because Jesus loves you.” With tears flowing down her cheeks, she says, “I want to marry Him.” “Marilyn, he wants to marry you. If you want Jesus, pray this prayer with me…” That night she married Jesus. Church, Body of Christ, bride of Christ, breathe in deep the love story of Jesus that you are a part of and let it impact every part of your life. Amen.