tales2apoint

…stories and poetry to touch, teach, & turn the heart toward truth.


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Liberation

lest I should lust
and enlarge the list
of all that I’ve lost
in the loop of sin,
I must trust at last
in the love of my Lord
in his loyal liberation
of my flesh from its fits

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Freedom Day

This story was not meant to be happy…

As I break from my busy day, I see through the eyes of my broken heart a young boy. He is a small child, but he is brave and strong.

He has seen what most could not imagine, but he lives calmly among common, everyday suburbanites. If you were a fellow 11 year old, you would never guess he’d been born into third world poverty. If you were his elementary teacher, you wouldn’t easily suppose he’d only lived in the U.S. for five years. If you called his name, you wouldn’t know by his response that it wasn’t the name his mother gave him. If you passed him on the street, walking beside his new mom, you’d be stunned to hear that he’d watched his childhood abductors drive a machete into his birth mother’s chest.

There were two who took him from his childhood home at the age of five, two sixteen-year-old boys. There were two, because evil desires companionship. There were two, because cowards don’t prefer to work alone. There were two, because one might have lost heart when he saw the depth of love that is shared between a mother and her son. One might have remembered his own mother who’d been snuffed out in a similar way only a decade before. Yes, two was safer. When boy soldiers were in high demand, there was no option for sentiment, no room for weakness. Two meant the job would get done.

I will call this child, Boyd, though his true name—his heart’s name—is Angelo. Boyd doesn’t mind being called by his new name, though. He likes it, in fact, because he is grateful for what it represents. It represents his freedom day.

When his abductors were caught and arrested only hours after they captured him, Boyd was placed in a children’s home. The small orphanage was filled with 147 other children, most of whom had similar stories to Boyd’s own tragedy. The long war had destroyed most of the families in his region. What few families the war had spared, disease and AIDS had quickly snatched.

Boyd was sharply aware, even at such a young age, that his hopes of escaping a life of hardship and pain were all but futile. Some older boys in the orphanage used to boast about who would sell the most drugs or sleep with the most hookers when they got turned out to the streets in a few years. These children had been orphans longer than Boyd, and they’d already forgotten much of what it was like to be safe and loved, to be held in the tender arms of a mother. Some didn’t remember their lives before at all. They’d been orphans since shortly after infancy.

Boyd was sickened by these sad ambitions. He wanted nothing to do with drugs or hookers. He wanted a mother, maybe even a father! What could drugs or prostitutes offer that a family could not ultimately surpass? Once, he had voiced these thoughts, and the other boys grew very quiet for a while. After a few uncertain moments, one of the older and more hardened boys had called him a little mommy’s boy who “had much to learn,” and the nonsense had quickly resumed. It was obvious that they had given up hope. Realizing this, a little more of Boyd’s own hope had died as well.

At night, Boyd would struggle for hours to overcome the terrors that made him tremble as he relived the memories of watching his mother’s death. He never let the other children know he was crying, but he couldn’t hold back the silent tears that shook his lonely little body. Each night his hope of rescue had grown fainter and weaker.

Boyd had never met his father. From a young age, he had dreamed that his father was alive and looking for him. He imagined a strong, handsome man who’d lost his way temporarily one day while hunting. He’d been convinced that his Papa had spent every waking moment since trying to find his family again. When he would speak of this to his mother, she would smile sadly and tell him to keep dreaming, that one day any dream might come true. She never told him to give up on the father who had abandoned them. In truth, she’d never given up on him herself.

Most of a year had passed since Boyd was placed in the orphanage, when two kind-eyed Americans came to visit. This was a day Boyd hoped never to forget for the rest of his life. This was the day of his freedom.

photo credit: http://www.fastfifty.net/Watoto-Boys


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Everything You Want

The God you need

Is everything you want

What you find in Him

Is what you have been seeking

Unfailing Love

Unspeakable Joy

Perfect Peace

Comforting Papa

Eternal Patience

Eternal Life

The kindest Goodness

The noblest King

Fulfilling Faith,

Faithful Fulfillment

Gentleness, Justice

Self-Control

Freedom from failures

Freedom to live

See the clouds parting

from His dwelling place

Repent and be humbled

Accept this brilliant gift

Ascend the hopeful heights

That rise into God’s glory

Begin where you stand now

He’ll join you in the valley

Rightness is an upward slope

With crevices between

Fear death no more

Embrace life fully

The God you need

Is everything you want

What you find in Him

Is what you have been seeking


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The Tempted and the Triumph

I.

The tempter tells us we are kings,

Then rules us with his lies.

The tempter tells us he is right,

But contradicts the wise.

The tempter hides to rape our hearts,

Where no one hears our cries.

The tempter knows our weakest points,

Sin’s drippings tantalize.

II.

The tempter pays the prostitutes,

Who dance before our eyes.

The tempter sings those wooing songs,

That bid us fantasize.

The tempter dictates tales we love,

The books that each one buys.

The tempter’s cages trap our minds,

He hoards his growing prize.

III.

The tempter flaunts our broken past,

Like rot attracting flies.

The tempter loves to reminisce,

To tighten shameful ties.

The tempter rushes us toward death,

To meet our long demise.

The tempter will ensure our pain,

And end will not arise.

IV.

The tempter only fears one man,

The One who made the skies.

The tempter cannot trample Him,

But through our sin he tries.

The tempter will one day see Hell,

And with him each that dies.

Oh tempted one, your hope for life,

Is Christ in Whom we rise.

V.

Oh tempted one, depart from sin,

Repent as I apprise!

Oh tempted one, come find with me,

A strength to exercise.

Oh tempted one, we can say “No,”

Despite temptations’ size.

The tempter must submit to God,

And unveil sin’s disguise.

VI.

Oh tempted ones, let us be strong,

The tempter to despise.

The tempter’s forces won’t withstand,

The chant of truth’s reprise.

From tempted ones to warriors strong,

The dying world advise.

The tempter’s strength grows weaker;

Darkness falls when light defies.


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Come Live! (A Little Alliterative Enlightenment)

Many myriads of microscopic materials

and minuscule moments

manufacture masterpieces

of meaningful memories.

Collectively, they compile compelling creations,

combined and commingled

into a completeness of consciousness

called life, called living.

Come live!

Leave the lingering lackluster lights,

the lights of life lacking love.

Boldly, they boast of betterness,

but breed brokenness and bitterness.

Behind each beckoning beacon

of beguiling brotherhood,

waits whitewashed, withering want.

Witting their wiles

whisk willfully away.

Come live!

Wallow wisely in wonderful worth.

Follow the Father of forgiveness, freedom.

Forsake the fracas of fickleness

and find the fulfillment of full friendship.

For there is a Friend who fellowships

with paternal proximity,

paired with providential power—

propagating and proliferating

purity, pleasure, and piety.

Do not deny the depth of discovery

designed deftly to define your destiny.

Come live!