Eternity in my arm

Eternity in My Arm

by Steve Loggins

12/24/2010

A nursing Child lays on her breast,

greedily feeding as infants do,

I gaze in wondrous love on this,

my wife and Child, old and new.

I’ve held eternity in my arm,

this Child of promise, Child of hope.

No man wants his child to come to harm

How can a mother and father cope?

I long to know what's yet to be,

will The Child see more joy than misery?

“Man's born to trouble”, so good Job said

and history confirms this truth

And all of us find the problem's spread 

by the time we grow to a youth

A nature to sin, to go our way,

To leave the Lord who loves

This Child with heaven in Him may

restore our Image from above.

For He is my child to care for now,

yet not my child,  in fact

For God sent His Son, He allows

Redemption within this act.

This Child is more than just a child,

He is the Promise of God

Now, it seems, that Glory smiled

and ended sin’s façade.

(edited 12/4/24)

Museum of Life

The Museum of Life

by Steve Loggins

8/4/2010

 

Museums have a special task, each a place where man reflects

on beauty, history, genius, art; we’re proud... is what I suspect.

Sometimes we find a strange museum, dedicated to the obscure

or a horrible event we must not repeat as long as civility endures.

But, when you think of it, life can be an epic museum of sorts

we store up events in our memory to give us some support.

We take our photos to remind us of the life that we now live

or record how it used to be, and who, what, how life gives.

Our museum starts with a baby’s cry - oh, blessed sound at birth!

It ends with a rattling gasp for air - when pain may end at death.

What lies between these mortal events, is the museum of our life

whose galleries show to all around, what we valued, what was rife

Does it show a loving family? Does it show us goodly things?

Is our museum a horror tale? Will it make us weep or sing?

Every day we fill the rooms up with our actions and our deeds

When others come to see our display, will it show that we succeed?

And then there is the Curator, He whom we must not forget

For He’s the One who keeps it all, to Him we owe the debt.

Life itself is a gift to us, to waste or build anew

When others look upon our life, may they see that we were true.

The Glory of Him

(with thanks to Pastor Jerrel Brown for the Inspiration)

The

   Glory

    of Him

   based on

  Romans

8:18

In all  who know  Him, those  He  saves

Resides  His  Glory, half  hidden  away

 At times it peeks out, whenever we hide

Ourselves  behind  what’s  really  inside

His Glory, His nature, His unfailing love

Endued  in  us  from  His  Spirit  above

We’re suffering now in  this world  of sin

but His Glory in us shall be fully seen then

The Glory of  Him who made us  again

His Image restored by His gospel plan

A Son whose  blood was  shed for all

that listen and hear and heed His call

His Glory, His Glory, His Glory, in us

Not of ourselves, our best will disgust

The Holy  One of  Glory, with  light all around

His Glory in Us, a race made from the ground

Whenever  we  let  out  His  Glory  so  bright

We find that our thinning will lessen the night

The darkness will flee from His bright shining Glory

The world  will  see  power  in  those  who  are Holy

So yield, let Him shine,  put  down  your  flesh

His Glory, His Power, His strength will refresh

His Glory,  His Glory,  His Glory,  that’s all

His Glory remains, when we learn to be small.

         

Omniscience

* I wrote this poem over a year ago - on a computer that has had it's share of problems booting up -  I finally got the computer working and found this poem which I had forgotten I had written and never found its way to anything other than an inactive hard drive  -so I thought I would post it today.  It is from a time when I was in a dark mood, as evidenced by only one positive line (the final line) in the whole poem -

Omniscience

By Steve Loggins 6/16/09

Naked before the Lord we kneel, our putrid state is soon revealed

To everyone else, He already sees – our utter existence of depravity

The best we are is leprosy, the whited spots of misery

No wholesomeness will e’er be seen, our mistaken attempts at dignity

What fools we are who will not see that no good thing resides in me

In you, in us; we cannot tell, that the best we do still warrants Hell.

He sees, He knows, He orchestrates, all events that seal our fate

Tho' we might try to wage debate, we still have sin written on our slate 

No mortal mind can comprehend the vastness of it all

The world that was, that we have now resulting from The Fall

Nor what will be because He deigned to drink the bitter gall

Of the Father’s wrath against our sin – He left Heaven’s hall

He knew it then, He knows it now, His suffering foretold

So man might leave this wicked place to walks the streets of Gold.

End of the Rope

by Steve Loggins

6/20/2010

Hand over hand, with legs intertwined,

my grip is so tired, I almost lose hope,

“Is there a rescue?”, I’ve almost resigned

to give it all up and let go of the rope.

Onward and upward or downward it seems,

I’ve lost all sense of direction,

a little gain, a little loss, no time for dreams,

only a struggling correction.

And suddenly, there’s no more rope,

no knots on which to climb or rest,

“What now?’ I ask, as I flailingly grope

for anything that I might possess.

The end of the rope.... I’ve heard of this

but I’ve never been here before,

Some think it hangs over a dark abyss

while others hope that there’s more

I look around and see no aid,

no ground on which to stand,

My helplessness makes me afraid

of where I now might land.

My strength is gone, I must let go

and fall to who knows where

My terror of the unknown grows

so on I cling and say a prayer.

“Can you help me?”, I meekly ask,

“I cannot hold much longer”

His answer comes, “You must let go.”

I only hold on stronger.

“Let go”, He says, “trust Me to save”

He whispers in my ear

“But what if You fail?...and only the grave

is left for me, as I fear”

“Let go”, He says, “and let me do

what only I can do”

So I let go... and soar on through

to skies of golden rainbow hues.

Mortality

Mortality

6/11/10

The pressing of the hands in rhythm on the prone man’s chest

is followed by a pinching nose and aid with rapid breath

On and on the deed is done until there is no hope

that a beat will resume in a now stilled heart – we are left to cope

With mortality

We fear to recognize the truth that we all one day will die

Our hearts will stop, our breath will cease, a final closing of the eyes

What then? we muse, we ponder; desiring that there’s more

than just the closing of the grave; we want, instead, a door

To a life that’s free from burdens, struggles, and the pain

that comes from living in a world that needs creating again

We have The Word that tells us, that when we finish here

There’s more to do, more to see, and more to accomplish there

Unencumbered by our mortal flesh, our spirit shall renew

With wonders unimaginable, with cosmic joys debuted

We fear the day that we shall die, it’s normal, I suppose

But mortal man – Immortal God – we often juxtapose

And we have the promise of the One who died and yet He lives

That we too will live outside of time - Eternal life He gives.

Mistaken Dreams

Mistaken Dreams

5/13/2010

By Steve Loggins

The Dream becomes a nightmare that has swallowed up all joy,

Mistaken deeds that can’t be hid by argument or ploys.

Justifying wrong actions cannot undo damage done

To friend and family and self; in truth, no one has won

We fancy that we know what’s best

What should be done to help the rest

We set a course we then pursue which should lead to Harbors fair

Yet our compass is flawed, our ship is doomed to sail into despair

With pleasant thoughts we hoist the main to catch a wind to sail

Only to find our canvas torn to tatters by a raging gale

The vision that we once held dear morphs into morbid truth

We thought a lie could spare us from the wrath we now endure

It was wrong to call it right, to do the deeds that grieve the Light

Though we try with all our might, the die is cast that brings on night.

Lash ourselves to the mizzen main to stay the course through stormy rains

There’s hell to pay 'til we attain through angry waves to what remains

A sunny day, a hopeful shore, a port where we can dock,

It all dissolves in bitter tears at the sounding of the clock

That wakens us from pleasant dreams back to reality

For we ride the storms that we create in foolish mortality

With kudos to and apologies to Joyce Kilmer for the plagerism:

"The Tree"

I think that I will never see

A tree as lovely as Calvary.

Where mercy’s love was crushed and pressed

By sin’s defeat, now we are blessed.

A Man looks to heaven, that awful day,

“Forgive them”, were the words He prays;

A Crown of Thorns, this Man now wears,

With Blood mingled down upon His hair,

Upon whose Bosom, John once lay,

Now a whip has lashed flesh away,

Sin was made by fools like me,

But only God made Calvary.

Games

Games

By Steve Loggins

3/3/10

We love to play, we love our games, we cannot live without

Some games to play, for many folks – it’s what’s life’s all about.

Some games are fun, some games are hard, some games are made to lose,

A game you cannot win is wrong, yet many want to choose

A challenge that they strive against, yet cannot ever win

But give me a game with a clear cut goal, with victory built within.

Word games, sports games, child games, card games,

Mind games, dangerous games, stupid games, Video games

Fantasy games, dating games, people games, power games

Love games, hate games, jealous games, friendly games

So many games that people play, with many reasons too

The thrill of the game or just to play, others want it to be through

The end of the game can be victory or the acrid taste of defeat

Or neither one; an experience that can, instead, be bittersweet.

Is life a game? A cosmic toss of dice or turning card?

Or is it more? Does it even count? Is living much too hard?

For it seems we all must lose the game, like tetris slamming down

Death trumps our ace, the rook wins the hand, his checker gets the crown

But there is more – the game is on – death does not win the hand

For the game continues on with life in an everlasting land

We have the promise that death will die – and we will not again

See suffering or the pain of life, our game will shout “Amen!”

The Face of Anguish

A response to the earthquake in Haiti - pray for the people!

The Face of Anguish

By Steve Loggins

1/21/10

Unexpected pain fills the heart of the young,

Fear of the future is not on her mind yet.

Only a longing, unsatisfied, and strong,

And a sense of loss and a looming threat.

A heart pierced through with urgent anguish,

Her family’s gone, her home, her love

No hope is left, her sorrows languish

like waves on a beach with moonlight above.

The shaking earth has killed her world,

Strangers invade to offer relief

to hurts unimaginable, emotions unfurled

like a flag in the wind, depicting her grief.

A scream of despair with tears of wailing,

No comfort can come to a damaged soul.

There is only the pain, there is only the tearing

of a heart ripped in two that none can console.

“Time heals all wounds”, so the saying goes

but this means nothing to her today,

and in truth, it’s not right for everyone knows

that scars from our wounds will stay.

“Does God hate me? Why did this happen?”

These questions linger, the millions ponder

The disaster struck, the suffering so sudden,

In a place where pain was prone to wander.

No answers, just questions, fill the air of despair

There is no easy solution,

But a hand offered in love can answer a prayer,

And ease pain into resolution.

God loves the Haitian people,

just as He loves the Jew,

He sent His son for their consolation

For sin, which He hates, His world, He renews.

Adrift

Adrift

by Steve Loggins

1/12/10

Stranded in an endless sea of doubt

No sign of safety or rescue

No hope

The waters stretch to claim me

for their own

drowning

I make my struggle against

the overwhelming

flood

Without any aid of flotsam

To hold me up

despair

Alone I tread, adrift in woe

The sound of water

engulfing

No ship in sight, no rescuers

No birds so far from

land

The easy thing will be to die

To stop the struggle

sink

Beneath the waves, silence comes

The peace of death’s

embrace

Say “no!” to coward’s easy way,

swim on ‘til something

changes

There is always hope

Faith and

Love

To sustain us, though we perish

A far white shore rimmed in

gold

Turning of the Year

Turning of the year

by Steve Loggins

1/3/10

The countdown to the moment goes and then the clock strikes twelve,

The world erupts in jubilant cheer as another year is put on the shelf.

A blank slate is now before us, the grounds for our expectant joys,

We hope for the best, we wish for a change, the change that time deploys.

But what is time? a ticking clock will demonstrate its passing,

A linear count of finite beats, that culminates with none amassing.

An hourglass may run the time through a bottleneck to show,

That sand has passed from bulb to bulb, from moving high to low.

But is this time? Or just a trick to show us what we want to know,

That we have the time to live and breathe, time to learn and grow.

The turning of a year for us marks many things we want to see,

We count ourselves by the years we live, and hope this one turns out to be

Better than the previous one, and all those gone before,

With furtive optimism we meet the year as a new thing to explore.

Some hopes are dashed immediately, as death and suffering come

For Chronos knows no changing days, time keeps plodding on and on.

Atropos cuts the spinning thread that Lachesis measures out,

For each man, woman, child of us, the Fates make us cry or shout.

It is a lie. There are no Fates or Norns to decide our days,

There is only God, the master of time, to Him we owe our praise.

He gave us life, He gives us time, to live, to love, to die.

And then His promise made to us is that time will say “goodbye”

No turning of the year, no sorrow comes to life,

Eternity will end our fears, heaven ends all strife.

The Master stands beyond our days, and from eternal past

Outside the years we measure out, only His people last.

So count the passing of your time, number your days and die

But understand that there is more – trust God and don’t deny.