Look at what I have to deal with everyday…

So I haven’t written any poetry in a while.  Is that because
things are going well?  Or does it just mean that I’m that tied
up?  Much has still gone on in my life, though.  And much
more, in my head.

As I reflect on where I am right now, I realize how good it feels to
have that sense that I am growing, God is moving in my life.  I
have often wondered, is life really worthwhile if God’s Spirit is shut
out of it?

I don’t consider myself charismatic, and I often even cringe at the
things that I hear charismatics say and do.  But I must say, that
I’m glad that they remind me that God is present, active, and
accessible through my senses.

I believe in the gift of tongues (that is, the supernatural ability to
speak foreign languages), the gift of prophecy, and the gift of
healing.  But I have none of those three.  I enjoy singing
songs of worship, even closing my eyes, standing, and even raising my
hands.  I have even been known to cry during worship.  But I
must admit that moments of spiritual ecstasy have grown few and far

Some people are able to access the supernatural through
experience.  Others through a quieted state–e.g., prayer and
meditation.  Recently, I realized that there are times when it is
easiest for me to ascend into the heavens through poetry.  The
supernaturalist, mystic, and the poet.

I know that my poetry really isn’t that good.  But that doesn’t
really bother me because some people can “feel” God even though thing
sing like a crying monkey.  In any case, there are times when
through metaphor, a window is opened into heaven and the Spirit pours
freely over me.  Now, I know that God is omnipresent and I don’t
need to open up some stupid window in heaven in order to contact
God–heck, Jesus lives within my heart.  But how do I heighten my
senses in such a way as to experience life in both its natural and
supernatural dimensions? 
Especially as I’m growing older and I feel less attracted to worship
pyrotechnics, poetry offers me that possibility.

It occurs to me that many of the prayers in Scripture are poems. 
How can feeble human words reach an awesome and wholly-Other God? 
Our words must grasp for what is beyond their lexical boundaries and,
by faith, reach for the Invisible.

I hope I haven’t grown cynical over the time, although I probably
have.  I think it was my cynicism which birthed these poems. 
Perhaps God is leading me toward a new spirituality, where prayers pour
forth from joyful lips.

The only thing is, happy poems are boring.

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