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Even Graves Grow Flowers

May 24, 2026

“Their throat is an open grave; they flatter with their tongue.
- Psalm 5:9

—

I once knew a dead man
Whose mouth grew flowers.
His mouth was a grave,
That talked for hours.

The dead man talked
The people listened;
The crowd adored
The dead man’s wisdom.

Such lovely words!
Such eloquent speech!
Yet the flowers concealed
Menacing teeth.

An articulate corpse
With ideas that bloomed,
Wretched and loud,
From out of his tomb.

And you could have one
If you wished.
The price was low,
Just submit!

A flower for you
If you’d honor the king;
See him there on his platform -
Come, kiss Pastor’s ring!

“I am the good shepherd!”
The flower-mouth screamed,
As little sheep died
So close to the Stream!

Instead of slaking their thirst
He tickled their ears,
Then nibbled their necks,
And became what they’d feared.

He soon bore fanged teeth
And howled at the moon,
And licked his flowery lips -
Sealing their doom.

Some had tried
To warn the rest
But no one listened
To their distress.

And the flock often thanked him
For being so kind:
For beating and bruising,
And speaking “God’s” mind.

Then, at last,
His filthy mouth foamed
As he shed what was left
Of his tawdry sheep’s cloths.

The sheep with no shepherd
Now trembled in dread,
Shocked and surprised,
They scattered and fled.

But wild with rage,
He ripped them wide open;
He broke their sweet bones;
He strangled and choked them.

He gobbled their goodness,
He gnawed on their souls,
And drug their sweet corpses,
To sad shallow holes.

He crushed with his words,
And with murderous phrases,
He buried their bodies
Beneath the stones of his greatness.

… Now, it is true
That some sheep escaped;
While most others worshipped
A few limped out the gate.

And now flower-mouth has
A new flock down the way;
And of the old flock you’ll often
Hear passersby say:

“What a lovely old church!
What a house for the Saints!
And what lovely flowers,
Grow out of their graves!”

-

“For where God built a church, there the devil would also build a chapel” - Martin Luther

“Satan’s greatest weapon is the Bible in the hands of a man who is not submitted to God” - A.W. Tozer

“False doctrine does not meet men face to face… it approaches us secretly, quietly, insidiously.” J.C. Ryle

“These wolves are not outside the flock, but within it.” - Martin Luther

Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.” - Matthew 7:15

“After my departure fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock; and from among your own selves will arise men speaking twisted things, to draw away the disciples after them.” - Acts 20:29-30

“Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world.” - 1 John 4:1

“‘Their throat is an open grave; they use their tongues to deceive.’ ‘The venom of asps is under their lips.’ ‘Their mouth is full of curses and bitterness.’ ‘Their feet are swift to shed blood.’” - Romans 3:13-15

1 Comment

Cozy, Lord?

November 24, 2025

“Don’t you know your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you?”
- 1 Corinthians 6:19

—

Create in me room enough, somehow, for Your gargantuan grace…

Or at least enough room for a little furniture…

A crooked lampstand. A wobbly table. A small altar.

And hey, I’ve got some art we could hang…

A faded picture of a Garden. Palm trees. Angelic things…

Or create in me just enough space, perhaps, for a thimbleful of Your grace…

Crack open in me enough room for a small breadcrumb of Your mercy…

You… Boundless as space. Nearer than breath. Make room in me for You…

-

When I was young I wondered how a King like You could fit inside a tiny thing like me…

Silly, right? But, God… I’m still wondering…

And now that You’re here, of all places… How’s it going in there? Are You cozy, Lord?

I’m sorry for the draft - my anger opened a window some time back and I still don’t know how to close it…

I’m sorry for the noise - I know, I know - I play my opinions loud so that I’ll feel significant…

Oh, and I’m sorry for the smell - I think my innocence crawled under the bed a while ago and died…

And I’m sorry for the clutter - but by the time I noticed the mess I’d kind of stopped caring…

I’m sorry, Lord… I’m sorry for it all…

… Still cozy, Lord?

-

You know… sometimes I catch you cleaning up my mess…

And, golly, Lord, You know you don’t have to do that…

No, really Lord… it’s so beneath you… And You’re my guest…

So, for real, Lord, stop it. You’re embarrassing me…

No, seriously, knock it off, Lord! I like my soul-room the way it is!

… I SAID STOP TOUCHING MY STUFF!

Your humility frustrates every fiber of my flesh…

Your meekness infuriates every inch of my ego…

You shall NEVER wash my feet, Lord…

… How could I EVER let You?

If You’re not cozy here, then maybe You should…

-

But… please, don’t leave me… Lord…

Not now… Not now that you’re here… Not now that I know you…

Not now that there’s a fire in my hearth again…

Not now that the curtains have been drawn and the sun is shining in…

Not now that I can see the color in the rose garden…

Not now that there’s singing and laughter and dancing in my halls again…

Oh, God. I’ll bite my tongue…

Go on, rearrange the furniture…

Rearrange me. Renovate me…

-

But please, Lord, go easy… be kind…

And, in the morning, we will sit in the sun…

Sit in the silence. Feel the hum. The sheer joy...

Then, in the evening, light the fire…

Talk while shadows flicker on our faces and the moon rises higher…

And my heart will find the words my pride would never say….

”Not just my feet, Lord… but my hands and my head too.”

Welcome home, High King of Heaven…

Though it’s humble, make it habitable.

And happy. And holy…

Oh, God… make it holy…

-

Start the music…

Start the feast…

Stoke the fire…

Shake the house with sacred shouts of seraphim…

Stay, King of Heaven. Stay.

-

“Every Christian is a sanctuary.” - AW Tozer

“He is going to make us into creatures that can contain His glory - living temples.” - C.S. Lewis, "Mere Christianity"

“Cleanse the inner man and you shall truly be the temple of God.” - Thomas à Kempis,

“You are the house of God. Not in symbol, not in imagination, but in actual fact. God is in you. You are the living temple of the living God.” - E. Stanley Jones

Comment

Brutal Truth. Dishonest Love.

March 6, 2025

Side with love or side with truth?
Benevolent fool or intelligent brute.
If you choose a side, you choose to lose.
And if you don’t, they’ll crucify you.

Brutal is truth without love.
A lifeless Book and flightless Dove.
The Lord of push and King of shove.
Horrendous nightmare, without love.

Dishonest is love without truth.
A spineless show. A happy rouse. 
Massaging the neck while tightening the noose.
Sweetly fall to your death, without the truth.

Wrenchingly narrow is the Way, 
Of loving truth in such a day;
Or of truthful love which dares to say, 
“Your debt of sin, God’s Son has paid.”

—

“Speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into Christ.” (Eph. 4:15)

In Poems, Christian Culture, Christian Life
1 Comment
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WELCOME.

My promise is honesty and messiness - words that are 100% AI-free. Not for pity or attention... but because right here, with a few thoughts and shards of eternity, I meet God, who adores me; King of my every fiber - blood, bone, and breath. He has me in His grip and, settling into His furious love, I find rest in Him.


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