The Apostle

I wish that I could write
‘Death be not proud’
or reflect on deep rages into heaven.
But maybe it’s best I can’t
For all my life I might have spent
Wrestling with words in mind
Conveying what was not lodged yet in my heart.

Instead, I chose another way
And am content for what He’s given to me
These dark exciting days of quest and struggle—
Not with foes without
But self – uncomprehending.

“Third culture Kid” -- how simple yet divine a concept
Is that pearl and treasure found
And seized and dusted off from other ages known
But lost amidst the toil and movement of their thought
But now redeemed and brought to bear on current
Global life in these proud strutting days
Of fame and fortune – but empty of the
love from the first of life desired to center man.

And so we strive, our Babel clans, against
Each other, but deep down, against the truth
That He’s the one
Who gives us life
And frees us from ourselves
To be ourselves, yet also walk with others undefended.

And so I write and work and live and love
Freed by him to cross those boundaries as I wish
With salt and light and leaven not my own
Aware that those with whom I walk
Are mostly not set free
And therefore may not feel
Released to reach
Back the other way
Across the boundaries time and distance have wrought sure,
And find release and flavor light and leaven
Freeing into life, their way, more fully than in past.