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I need a hand

We’re all born to broken people on their most honest day of living 
and since that first breath… We’ll need grace that we’ve never given 
I’ve been haunted by standard red devils and white ghosts 
and it’s not only when these eyes are closed 
these lies are ropes that I tie down in my stomach, 
but they hold this ship together tossed like leaves in this weather 
and my dreams are sails that I point towards my true north, 
stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better 
but it won’t won’t, at least I don’t believe it will… 
so I’ve built a wooden heart inside this iron ship, 
to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts. 
don’t let these waves wash away your hopes 
this war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors 
pulling fist fulls of rotten wood from my heart, I still believe in saviors 
but I know that we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board 
washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores 
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief 
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach 
come on and sew us together, tattered rags stained forever 
we only have what we remember 

I am the barely living son of a woman and man who barely made it 
but we’re making it taped together on borrowed crutches and new starts 
we all have the same holes in our hearts… 
everything falls apart at the exact same time 
that it all comes together perfectly for the next step 
but my fear is this prison… that I keep locked below the main deck 
I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden 
and my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right 
but they’re heavy and I’m awkward…always running out of fight 
so I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship 
hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks 
because I am made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam 
lost and found like you and me scattered out on the sea 
so come on let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief 
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach 
come on and sew us together, just some tattered rags stained forever 
we only have what we remember 

My throat it still tastes like house fire and salt water 
I wear this tide like loose skin, rock me to sea 
if we hold on tight we’ll hold each other together 
and not just be some fools rushing to die in our sleep 
all these machines will rust I promise, but we’ll still be electric 
shocking each other back to life 
Your hand in mine, my fingers in your veins connected 
our bones grown together inside 
our hands entwined, your fingers in my veins braided 
our spines grown stronger in time 
because are church is made out of shipwrecks 
from every hull these rocks have claimed 
but we pick ourselves up, and try and grow better through the change 
so come on yall and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief 
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach 
come on and sew us together, were just tattered rags stained forever 
we only have what we remember

I’m coming Home to the quiet life

He is a man without the care of making friends, without the hope or desire of worldly good, without the apprehension of worldly loss, without the care of life, without the fear of death; of no rank, country or condition; a man of one thought, the Gospel of Christ; a man of one purpose, the glory for God; a fool, and content to be reckoned a fool, for Christ. Let him be enthusiastic, fanatic, babble, or any other outlandish nondescript the world may choose to denominate him. But still let him be nondescript. When they call him trader, householder, or citizen, man of substance, man of the world, man of learning, or even man of common sense, it is all over with his character. They must speak or they must die; and although they should die, they will speak. They have no rest but hasten over land and sea, over rocks and trackless deserts. They cry aloud and spare not, and will not be hindered. In the prisons they lift up their voices, and in the tempest of the ocean they are not silent. Before awful councils and throned kings they witness in behalf of the the truth. Nothing can quench their voice but death, and in the article of death, ere yet the spiry flame and rolling smoke have suffocated the organ of the soul, they speak, they pray, they testify, they confess, they beseech, they war, and at length, bless the cruel people.

I’ll go where You want me to go;
I’ll do what You want me to do;
I’ll say what You want me to say;
I’ll be what You want me to be. 

Nothing will make up, should His “Well done!” be missed.
William MacDonald

Stache, bells, an accent, and a MELODICA! OH BABY!

California Sun

Runnin’ The Option

The older I get the more real the “world” becomes. Seems like one second I was 16 getting my license and now I’m finishing up college and wondering what the heck I’m gonna do the rest of my life…. 

The “world” tells us to run the option in everything, relationships, job opportunities, and even churches. That way if the first choice doesn’t work out or you feel the pressure of a choice closing in on you and get uncomfortable, you can just pitch it out wide or run the reverse. Initially that sounds like a flawless plan, keep your options open so you get what you want…. 

Relationally you will hit a wall. I don’t want the girl I marry to be a girl who is runnin’ the option all the time just incase I don’t work out. I don’t want the girl I marry to think that I have my options open or am talking to anyone else. It leads to emotional, spiritual, and physical pain. I know whoever God has for me is a one guy kinda gal. None of this looking for emotional, spiritual, and physical connection around every nook and corner. She’s gotta run the hand-off to me and have only one option; even teams that know what is coming every play can’t stop the run if the team trusts and works well together. I know God has an MVP girl out there for me.

My one job here on earth is to do the will of God. I want nothing more in my life and I don’t want to pitch the ball out to another option like my flesh or the world. God grant me the grace to be faithful to Your will. 

My church, I am runnin’ with until the day I drop. In other words I wanna die on the field in a GCC uniform running for the endzone. There is something to be said about loyalty to one God, one church, and one woman. I am paired up with a church that wants to change the world and wants to see the leaders and young men and woman of tomorrow stepping up today. 

Holdin’ out for that one guy kinda gal, hangin on to my one God, and loyal to my church. God willing.

Go sing, too loud
Make your voice break- Sing it out
Go scream, do shout
Make an earthquake…