To Seek

There’s something about the word “seek”.

Webster’s 1828 dictionary states that “to seek is to go after…to press, to drive forward… To go in search or quest of; to endeavor to find or gain BY ANY MEANS.”

There’s nothing quite like a friend who seeks you out–in fact, it’s probably one of the truest signs that he or she is a real friend.

Because seeking requires resolve. Seeking goes out of the way. Seeking desires fellowship and communication even when it is not “convenient”. Seeking involves giving, sacrificially, of one of our most precious gifts…time.

It breaks my heart to see those I love chasing, seeking, desperately begging for fellowship from those they honestly think are friends…those who couldn’t be bothered.

Your truest friends aren’t the ones who casually respond only after YOU initiate contact. Your truest friends aren’t the ones who condescendingly “fit you in” when they have time. Your truest friends aren’t the ones you have to constantly pursue, or the ones who only make their presence known with the occasional obligatory “like” on Facebook.

I’m not saying you should cut those people out of your life, or stop showing them kindness. But it is worth evaluating whether they deserve the title and regard of “friend”…and more importantly, if we ourselves deserve to be called such.

A FRIEND is the person who checks in on you at random times..who sends that hello or initiates the conversation… who cares about communicating more than shallow fluff… who MAKES time to be with you…who rejoices in your presence…who encourages you in Christ our GREATEST friend, Who came to seek us all…

Because there’s something about the ones who seek.


The Hour

 The Hour
There came the hour when far beyond the castle’s walls he stood, 
And knew twas’ his to tread the world, but not the halls of wood; 
Nor to sit again by a glowing hearth, nor recline on beds of ease– 
For on frozen fields he’d rest his head, and sit by roiling seas.
There came the hour when his spirit grew and cracked the eggshell’s might,
And newborn eyes filled fresh with heav’n, and Heav’n didst bid him fight:
To rise above the timid souls, who hide in narr’wing dark– 
To soar beyond the scornful ones who snuff the fire’s spark. 
There came the hour adventure called, beyond the ramparts vast:
And sword in hand he slid the bolt, slipped shackles of the past.
His heartsong twas’ the heartbeat of the wondrous, of the wild– 
And all that Fire and Life doth bring embraced him as their child. 


When tennis-ball sized hail fell in Cheyenne a few weeks ago, it shattered our glass table into a thousand smithereens….

And when the words fell and the friends turned on their heels, and the silence prevailed, I felt something else shatter as well.

I’ve scarcely thought about the pile of glass in my front yard…but there are other broken things that I constantly grate and tear, that worked their way into my dreams.

And today I wanted, as close as I ever have in my life, revenge. For them to harvest a small sampling of the pain they’d forced me to reap.

But the only one gathering anything was me, when mom called me out front to help pick up all the glass.

I crouched and peered at the dirt and debris around me on that lawn. Some of the pieces were large, piled together, easy to find. Others were such tiny things, nestled at the base of the blades of grass.

And my biggest clue to finding each piece was the way they caught the light, like so many little gems, so many little stars.

I think we’ve all heard the analogy about how God can use even the broken things in our lives…how He can take those broken pieces and make something beautiful. And I know He can…

But what about when He DOESN’T? What about the times when all that’s given us is the brokenness?

A thousand tiny sharp shards to find, a thousand hours of wondering and searching down on your knees…

And I realized that the hunt for the pieces is not to put away the pain, to make sense of the chaos, to stop feeling the loss….

but to realize that even brokenness still glistens with The Light.

~The Lost Song~

A song, a chant, a warring-cry, my brother wrote a battle hymn.
And though louder than thunder was, silenced at once the awful din.
Then in that space my forlorn heart took wings and flew to days and times
When our souls were not enemies, and you, comrade, were brother mine.

A hill, a flight, a spray of snow—we rode upon a charger brave
In Winter laid both fears and foes and tears and strife into the grave.
And in that age we laughed alike, twas but our life’s bright summertime,
When our souls were not enemies, and you, comrade, were brother mine.

A roast, a bowl, a table’s cheer, was how, that eve, the nightmare came.
And though subtler than silk it was, unleashed were words that caused us pain.
And pain didst lead to bleeding wounds, and wounds didst fester days and times
When our souls were not enemies, and you, comrade, were brother mine.

A sword, a spear, now fugitives, we flee and war on separate ways.
More scouring than the dessert sands, more cru’l than blood that gilds our days
Was there not a covenant? Nay, now lays dead, as is the life
When our souls were not enemies, and you, comrade, were brother mine.

A song, a chant a warring-cry, my brother wrote a battle hymn,
And scarce my soul can hear it now, amid hell shrieking death and din.
Once were our souls not enemies, once were you, comrade, brother mine?
Nay—my soul heeds not such things, shall to lone darkness ever bind.

~Winter Cry~

~Winter Cry~.

Wander, pace this path again

Feet still, I watch the frost flakes fly

These first frost flakes that herald more–

An angry, biting army more.


Hoary, this cold mob will blind

And I will continue to wend

The journey back to homeland shore–

The fair forsaken homeland shore.


Stumble, forests trap and tear

Tis not the wounds that slow my task

But legs so swift in coward’s flight–

So weak to save me from the night.


Breathe, and know that home is nigh

Yet know, my guilt the door hath barred.

All treasures scorned in my disdain–

Shall not be mine to hold again.


Blue, the blizzard leads me on.

Dark red, the sky a canopy.

And snow my mark on earth erase–

My defiled steps shall all erase.

I sought to friend red Autumn’s child

Princess of flames she scattered wild

Her canvas, regal mountain sides

Glint of her smile for souls beguiled.


Would then I’d known my outstretched hands

Had blindly grasped at burning brands.

Her ochre eyes, not mine to keep,

Shed falling tears to lull to sleep.


I sought to friend cold Winter’s Dear

She danced pure silver, ev’ry year.

Who moonlight clad, imbued white fear–

My fervent arms embraced her near.


Would then I’d known twas’ whirlwinds clasped–

That no love keeps such dancers trapped.

Her diamond lips, not mine to keep,

Sang frozen winds to lull to sleep.


Would I had known the black of night

That ne’er in hope sparks with the light.

And would that hearts not mine to keep

Had swiftly sent me to such sleep.


So inky script did fade
These words to ashes gray
And what once shone in cavalcade
Has dried and blown away.

Shields then formed a wall
But gloria victoria
Now blazes hot in fiery fall–
Has dried and blown away.

Demons stay to dance
Whirl, fingers latched, close to our hand
I know this plague so shook our stance–
It’s dried and blown away.

The wind will not return again
That which we sacrifice and lend
Too quickly precious things of men
Have dried and blown away.

Keep close the blood within your heart
And tear-filled eyes that shine like stars
Guard this pain lest love depart–
And die to blow away.