famous fridays: ralph waldo emerson

"It's Friday!" The cry of joy all across the world. Some look back, sighing in relief after a long, hard week. Others look forward, smiling in anticipation of a good weekend. Friday. It's either the end of the week or the beginning of the weekend, but rarely do we take Friday as a day in and of itself. I'd like to pause for a moment and enjoy Friday for what it is. It's not Monday. It's not hump day. It's not those long work-days in between. It's 24 hours that I won't get to appreciate again until 7 more days have passed.

So here's a "famous Friday" for you. It only comes once a week. Don't miss it.

Emerson is quickly becoming my favorite poet. I've been trying to expand my literary palate by reading a new poem every day. The anthology, Poem a Day, has helped me accomplish this goal.

This poem by Emerson is about a subject that I often need reminding of - patience. His words are beautifully crafted to highlight the importance of not living in haste. Perhaps Emerson would recommend enjoying Friday for what it's worth as well.

Forebearance
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun;
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk;
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse;
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust;
And loved so well a high behavior
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay?—
O be my friend, and teach me to be thine!

untitled...suggestions welcome.

I have a feeling of longing that's wisping like the leaves on the ground.
If the air catches just right you can smell the wet dew that's fleeting and fleeing the wind,
Sure to dry it up if it catches on.
I wish I could explain the choke in my chest,
Like a foreboding sadness, unexplained and unattained, yet somehow gripping me all the same.
The prophets foretold what no one could know and we believed them,
Ducking under the trees to protect us from the piercing rays of light.
Truth is all the same when you call it by it's name,
But I like to call it by it's heart.
It's the difference between sound and sadness, love and madness,
My eyes are clouded with the jumbled letters.
And the fog never clears.

Abiding Mercifully in You

She is one part
Of the body of Christ –
Exuding His light
And touching His heart

The feet are beautiful
Running with the Lord
And carrying His word
To the ends of the earth

The legs are firm
Providing a foundation
For the church and the nations
To grow in dedication.

The arms enfold
Gathering in the hurt
Bringing them close to His heart
So that He may love and nurture

The head brings wisdom
Knowledge of the word
Instruction for the herds
And prophecies from the Lord

But where is she?
Her heart is not at rest
For she finds not a place among the legs,
The head, the arms or the feet.

However, her role is noticeable –
Unseen and insignificant in her own eyes
She is visible in the mirror of Christ
And to others, irreplaceable.

Her work, not in vain, is worthwhile.
She exemplifies His grace
And is quiet in her place.
She is His smile.


*I wrote this about my precious and dear friend Amy.

Come Sit

David went to face his enemies
And found a table prepared before him.
“Come sit,” said a voice.

Elijah looked for God in fire and wind.
Instead he heard a whisper.
“Come sit,” it said.

Martha busied herself preparing a meal
While Mary chose what was better.
“Come sit,” said the Lord.

The disciples sent the children away
But Jesus bid them come.
“Come sit,” He said.

The Father looked down at His Son on the cross,
Then stretched out His right hand.
“Come sit,” He said.

Today, Jesus looks down on His sheep
Running around aimlessly.
“Come sit,” He says.

He sees those who never stop-
They’re always preaching, always serving.
“Come sit,” He says.

The gates of Heaven open wide;
A table is prepared.
“Come sit,” He says.

He points to an empty seat by his.
“I have called you, my child,” He says,
“So come sit.”

The Tree (Job 14:7)

A tree,

planted in the desert, the bark stripped raw from

the winds

and sand.

She waits in the dry seasons for

the rain;

her roots

cling to what little solid ground lies underneath the shifting surface.

Her eyes sting from

the sand;

tears may fall but

her roots

do not give way, even when attacked by

the wind.

Her hope

comes with the scent of

rain.

And yet, the glisten in her eye is always there to guide her laughter on

the wind.

And when the drought ends, she drinks deeply of

the rain

and is restored again.

A tree

always has hope, for when it is cut down by

the wind,or exhausted by

the sand,

it will grow again, and it’s new

roots

will not fail.

They are rooted

in a Love

that does not die.

This tree

will dance forevermore.

*I wrote this for a dear friend who has inspired me to take life as the Lord brings it to me, to laugh at it, to Love in it, and to dance because of it. And above all, to always have hope, because the Lord is gracious to restore abundant life. Thank you, Lauren.

Malachi's Song

Darkness enfolds
All around is cold
Yet even in the night
The stars still shine

You alone are God (2X)

Chorus:
Arise the sun
Your Glory shines
Awake the dead
With healing light
Burn our hearts
Refining fire
You alone are God

Clouds unfold
Clears away the fog
Yet even in the unknown
Your Majesty is shown

You alone are God(2X)

Chorus



*(This is mean't to be a song. My brother wrote the music to it. The music and the words, without each other, don't do the song justice. The inspiration behind this song was the book of Malachi. It talks about the depravity of Israel, how the Lord will sit 'as a refiner and purifier of silver,' cleansing all impurities, and then how they should not despair for 'the sun of righteousness will rise with healing on its wings.' We have such great hope in the Lord! And how true it is - we were healed when the Son rose. That is such a beautiful picture to me.)

My Heart's Song

There are bars around my heart
Hindering me from taking part
In the life He’s given me,
In the joy that used to set me free.

It is cold in this cell.
The water in my well
Has all dried up,
And I have misplaced my overflowing cup.

The silence is deafening
But my fears are roaring
In my ears and tormenting my mind,
So I watch helplessly as the years pass by

And I do nothing –
Too scared to try anything,
So I huddle behind a locked door,
Afraid to venture out or ask for more.

A gentle wind awakes my soul;
A light floods my dirty, little hole.
I have a visitor in my confining room;
A friend has joined me in my tomb.

But instead of wallowing in the filth,
He tenderly observes my state; His eyes hold a wealth
Of love, compelling me to rise from the dirt.
He draws me close and soothes my hurt.

He breaks the bars
And heals all of my scars.
He lights a fire to warm my soul
And in His presence, passion replaces the cold.

My excited heart beats so fast!
He gave me a peace that He promised will last.
He has righted all of my wrong.
He is my life, my first love, my heart’s only song.

The Girl

I am a girl.
A small word on the page
Of a book that tells a story
That is too great for words.

My character is swallowed up
By the Kings and Queens,
By the storms and battles,
And by all the radiant imagery.

Girl – a four letter word
That hardly describes
Yet so easily defines
And confines to the ink on the page.

My identity, however, is elusive –
Limited to adjectives,
Words from voices
That judge, compare, and rate.

It soon becomes clear
That I am not satisfied.
My world is quick to hate,
My character longs for love.

The people in this tale
Live in this hateful world
And see me for what I am –
Just a girl.

Why me on these pages?
I have become a joke,
Forgotten in the previous chapter,
Yet still there at the beginning of the next.

My story continues
And as a girl, I feel deeply –
Joy, sadness, hope, disappointment.
But mostly love.

My longings are not fulfilled
In my present setting.
The world’s quota of love
Cannot feed my soul.

Yet when all seems hopeless –
When my heart is starved,
Hungry with desperation –
A hero arrives on the scene.

Blinded by the fake luster
Of the picture before me
I pass him over with one glance,
Sure that his offer would fade like the rest.

But his eyes are unswerving.
Realizing the depths of my hunger
He does not look away
As He searches my hidden heart.

I turn away at the intensity of His stare
And He follows.
Persistently He pursues me
To discover the deepest needs of my soul.

I meet His gaze and I see
Something bold in His eyes –
Wells of shameless passion
Directed toward me.

He beckons to me
As I reach for His yearning arms.
He covers me with His love
And sees me for who I am.

My sins do not deny me His love.
I am worthy of pursuit
And I long for pure love.
I am a girl.

Isaiah 30:21

Everything before me is unknown.
But I can always look back,
Remain in the past,
See how much I’ve grown.

But, to what avail?
When I look behind me
I can never see
The end of my winding trail.

Where does it all lead?
This narrow path is so tough;
The soles of my feet are rough.
Why does my heart still bleed?

Who is with me on my road,
This road that ends with the sun?
I want to run,
But for the heaviness of my load.

But wait, a whisper on the wind;
A lightness felt in my soul.
He can make me whole,
Even though I’ve sinned.

So I turn to face the Son.
A voice behind me is ever present,
Saying, “This is the Way; walk in it.”
My journey has begun.