image courtesy of this page
September 1997
This ruinous girl walks into my sanctuary of music...
While there is silence every line
Of her round-shouldered frame shows
A woman who refuses to give in or to go on.
Silence makes her a slave to his dominion.
Then heaven opens to pour out song
On empress, dread lord, and chained slave alike.
Sometimes, for a few seconds, that heavenly fire
melts her chains--
but she holds them as they burn her fingers.
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7 December 1997
The priest entered the Holy of Holies once a year and shook with terror... praying if he felt able to do so that this was not the year of the Lord's wrath, when He would destroy the priest with the first fires sent to purify His fallen chosen nation.
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7 December 1997
I would beg You to burn this chaff
But I don't know what will be left of me when
That fire descends,
Burning out all that is muddy confusion
Leaving clear glass--
Should anything be left of me?
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15 December 1997
The Lord takes the yoke from our hearts burdened
like beasts,
unable to speak before Him--then He makes us
human...
and finally gives us back our yoke--only it is
no longer a yoke,
it is our sickle.
No more will it chafe and chain us to a burden...
It equips us to stand
in His service in this world
and His glory in the world to come.
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17 December 1997
Jesus take this fear from me, take me from this fear... Terror of something nameless has locked me in a prison of worthlessness, meaninglessness... something still feels cast out. Why do I know that You chose me and died for me and sent Your Spirit, yet I don't know it at all--I only know these chains. When Paul said to remember these chains, I don't think he meant that we ought to leave them wrapped around our throats.
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