It is Well with My Soul

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
A song in the night, oh my soul!

It is Well with My Soul

The Fourth Year

The fourth year is a dead, dry sea of shifting sands. Each week is a new staggering climb to crest a new mountain of sand, to be greeted again by another vicious valley and one more dead, dry sea of shifting sands.

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In this brush…

In this brush, quarks flip topsy-turvy, up and down, top to bottom, charming strange electrons and protons to smash together in orbital attraction, while excited gluons carry chaotic forces. In this brush, a quantum world explodes, rockets skyward shattering every stratosphere in its path, and lays bear a crescendo of crashing realities.

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In this hour…

In this hour, I awake to find you awake. I’ve seen you here before, but not from this place. It seems fitting then that I have lost mine. In this hour, even this hour, I know His hand is at work.

Out late, up late, I don’t know which – but concern, and troubling jealously, turn within me, and I can do nothing but let what may inspire my pen to comfort you in some unknown hour to come.

You’re restless, and I worry, but I’m strangely comforted by ills, forgotten, that brought me here to conscious moment, here, in this hour, to see you and plan for your good.

In this hour, I awake to find you awake. I know the many reasons why, so I do what only I can do: I pray to God above, this night, to care and love you through.

In these letters…

In these letters, four, recently have I come to know, lift me up and give me flight when there are many miles left to go.

In these letters, cascading, are your many charms to me, one overlaps another, and weaves and turns a beautiful tapestry.

In these letters, loving, are your many kindnesses to me, strength and care coincide in you, and I am put low upon my knee.

In these letters, keeping, are your many fine points of integrity, protecting for you a hope and future, from Him the Great and the Almighty.

In these letters, trusting, are your many graces to me, that I should be here, in this time and place, in this blessed opportunity.

In these letters, four, your bright smile shines serene, so I grasp these tokens now, reminding me of my love, while I am in between.

In this photograph…

In this photograph, you are falling. Running through long grass, twirling around, you have lost your balance, and the summer sun is lost in the shine of your smile.

This photograph is now a blur, shot in an unprepared instant, a real moment with you. But my memory of that moment is strong. No memento would serve me better than the love my eyes rested upon that day.

You lay on the ground, giddy, dizzy, delirious. I remember wanting, wishing I had laid down beside you in the grass to stare up at the wide open blue sky, to stare into your eyes.

This memory haunts me still, just like every other moment with you.

To do it all over again…

But I can’t go back. No one can go back. There is only this moment in which I can make the choice I really want.

In this photograph, my love is frozen. Many moonless ages have passed, and my heart has warmed. I long, now, for the warmth of that summer sun, to warm your heart to mine, to bring us back together, and to grant that moment to remake the choice I’ve always wanted. The choice for you, for always and evermore.

Sweet Song (Sweet Return)

Come back unto me, oh please,
and I’ll tend to your ease;
soothe again with your sweet song,
I will sing well along;
long have I longed unto you,
o’er nights never a few;
vicious is this vile space,
e’ermore long I your face;
your fair words make me as dumb,
or your absence as numb;
under these long years return, oh please, and I’ll tend to your ease.

In this moment…

In this moment lie two. Darkness, sweet, lay heavy. Here, in this moment, lies love.

Moonlight graces her tresses and her frame. Shine of sorrow, searing, and of pity, piercing. Their eyes are locked, inclined one to another. Eyes forlorn and longing to long. That time will come and will yet be under many moonless ages. In those receiving eyes, giving, unspeakable, lie unknowns, unrepeatable. The air carries no voice, but word does carry, slowed by the intoxication of the moment.

For all eternity, too long, and not long enough. Fear flutters on the cusp. Wearied will lifts laden lids. And he is utterly undone.

In this moment lie two. Both true and false. Both known and unknown. Both love and loss. Fear willed and sought safety, but unwitting welled deep and strong and true; love, where in this moment lie two.