least of these

something God has grown in my heart over the past couple years is an ever-pressing urge to involve myself with orphan ministry, and although i originally approached it in a mindset simply tuned for children's ministry, it has been such a mind-turning journey to see how God has altered my perspective not to see serving these children as a mere act of social justice or humanitarian aid, but rather, as a vivid glimpse into one of the most direct outworkings of the gospel: adoption. more posts to come on this topic soon i hope, but for now, here is but a meager attempt at a poem (or a song if you will) expressing this change of perspective. technical editing is needed, i am sure, but the message is what matters for the moment.


"least of these"

the room was dark and dank
the smell of waste filled my lungs
and in the shadowed crib sat a child
staring at my through the rungs.
his cries echoed with the rest,
yet nary a response ever came.
his arms wearied of reaching out,
and he'd sleep to awake to the same.

what hope is there for such brokenness?
what way to restore them to homes?
how can we save every little one's life
in a world where the lion ever roams?

he is but one in the midst of many
cast out and forgotten, and alone,
packed in an orphanage, waiting
for someone to call him their own.
he is but one in the midst of many
crying out with a heartwrenching wail.
do i open my home to this fatherless child,
or just put a check in the mail?

what hope is there for such brokenness?
what way to restore them to homes?
how can we save every little one's life
in a world where the lion ever roams?

then in the orphan's eyes
i saw where i once had been
ever desperate and helpless
sitting in the excrement of my sin.
but then strong arms lifted me out
and washed me clean of the mud.
now i'm restored to my Father,
adopted through my Brother's blood.

what better glimpse of God's grace,
who saved us and gave us a new name,
than to show His love to the least of these?
weren't we called to do the same?
we were called to do the same.

Christ is the hope for this brokenness,
and Christ is taking us home.
in Christ alone can all lives be saved,
and the lion will no longer roam.
(and the lion will no longer roam)

every wind of doctrine

the rippling of a thought
wavering on every wind of doctrine,

far from placid pleasantries

yet disguised so closely as such,

yet to move, nay, swayed

by the persistent pressing

of belief or ignorance

drawing you ever so swiftly,

an intangible dragging of your soul

to the corner of Iron and Time

where the beating of the water

against your brow hastens

to make you blink and miss

the Light, ever present, yet breaking

the blindness of the gray,

loosening the blur of the rain

of philosophic phrases,

oh, to grant just a glimpse of glory

in the hull of your soul,

ever breaking to be redeemed.

prone to wander

my compass needle spins on the wavering breath

of fickle emotions and fluctuant praise

wrestling the gravity of doubt’s elusive death

and settling in pity’s pasture to graze

with a satchel of bricks between my shoulder blades

the guilty stones of my own making

i tread, reluctant, as my soul Hope raids

my resistance the Word ever shaking

how heavy the eyelids, how stubborn the drum

of my existence to clutch dirt for peace

when His cloak of grace envelops this scum

begging my wandering to cease