Just a moment spent in prayer,
is worth more than all the wisdom this world can offer me.
Just a whisper from Jesus,
is enough to replenish,
to find the strength to finish my journey.

-Rhia Clay

A parched soil—
cracked, barren, yearning,
thirsty,
sinking into death.

My spirit, withering,
gnawed by hollow hunger,
enlisted in error
by a single act:

The act—
sealing shut
the Word of God,
the Living Water.

My soul,
a silent witness to this wrong,
sank
into depression,
into hopelessness,
into dust.

Yet opening His Word,
I drank from ancient wells—
joy spilling,
peace unfurling,
hope reborn.

For He
is His Word,
overflowing
in my hands.

The holy cross
One arm is called
Good Friday the
Other arm is called
Sunday Resurrection.

It's Good Friday today
And we'll remember our
Lord Jesus Christ in a very
Special and loving way
When your love took our burdens away
With sorrowful grace
In a sacred place
We find hope in the dawn's gentle ray.

Lord Jesus Christ
Never said fellow
Christians he
Said fellow me
Amen.

You don't know how wroth I feel,
You don't know.
It is better to swallow my own *****,
Gurgle my own bile down this sore throat.
You said you're ugly?
Can we trade?

It is better I wouldn't be this,
It robs my peace.
But it's not the first time,
Is it?

I took the spear,
*****, rusty spear, ugly.
I throbbed my own gut, repeatedly until I stopped bleeding.
And when my guts were hanging on the floor,
I waited till the crimson dried.

And when my entrails lay glistening on cold stone,
I took the Spear, and hurled it towards my creator.
Ooh how I repent!
I repent my God!
My heart is broken. Fragments.

I have one to blame, yes I do.
I.

But I have one to thank,
Him will I highly glorify, highly exalt.
pure as a lamb, mighty in glory.
Christ! Christ! Christ!

My King and My Lord I repent.
Can I put this filth on you? On those anvil shoulders?
Yea?
Why?


I repent!

"From dust to dust", they say.
so what are we?
wet clay?

Nah, that's not me.
I'm a ***,
Sculpted in the palms of the Divine.
Designed in holy thoughts,
Crafted craftily.

And so, the ***.
Marred in the hands of the potter.
Tempted to loathe itself
and cast it's image on the ground,
let's weep.

But then something,
The vessel that was marred in the hands of the potter,
was made into a new vessel.
Praise the Lamb of God!