God Knows

IMG_9599Recently discovered this beautiful and convicting poem by Minnie Louise Haskins — “God Knows,” more popularly known as “The Gate of the Year.”

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”

And he replied: “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

So heart be still:
What need our little life
Our human life to know,
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife
Of things both high and low,
God hideth His intention.

God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.

Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life’s stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God’s thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.

Caterpillar to Butterfly: A Poem

Caterpillar to butterfly
without the cocoon
Changing, growing, becoming
all out in the open for everyone to see
Wanting to be hidden
in the safety of obscurity

I feel like a child
jumping around trying to wave my arms so people will see me
“This is not who I’ll always be
Don’t write me off yet
Wait till you see who I become
what I become
I’ll make you proud”

I guess if you’re sticking with me now
you must love me more than I love myself
coz I don’t think I would …

Maybe that’s what I need:
your perspective

— Justin Fung, November 5, 2007

God of silence

Original post: February 7, 2008; repost: March 18, 2010.

I was in a tough place when I wrote this, and I will admit that life is, and perhaps never will be, devoid of these experiences. But I think that these experiences can, if we let them, strengthen our sense of need and desperation for the One whom we cannot live without.

God of silence, hear me; hear my cry and speak.

Just as you heard the cries of the Israelites in Egypt and rescued them,hear my cry and rescue me; just as you heard the cries of humanity for a savior and dwelled among them, dwell with me.

You are God, maker of heaven and earth,the One who speaks in the whirlwind and the whisper, in the fire and the flood, in the desert and the city.

Yet I cannot hear you. Are you speaking? Am I not listening? I strain my ears to hear your voice. And all I hear is noise.

Have you gone away, left me to fend for myself? You promised to be with us always.

You spoke before, and I heard; I listened, and I heard, and I rejoiced.

So I will wait again, for you are a God whose timing is not my timing, whose ways are higher than mine, whose patience outstretches mine. I will trust in your faithfulness, in your commitment to me,for you have proved true time and again.

I will trust in your presence with me, even when I cannot feel you; even when I cannot hear you, I will follow you.

And you will prove true once more; I will hear you speak again.

— Justin Fung

Poetry and Love

From A-level English Lit. classes, I came to love poetry; these poems in particular:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

— Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And oft’ is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d:
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

— William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say it is sad?
In one of the tenses I am singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La la la la.
See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills
I would have to cross to reach you,

For I am in love with you and this
is what it is like or what it is like in words.

— Carol Ann Duffy, (1955- )