Song Lyrics...Valley of Decision

 Posted by Lisa Laree to Catching the Mosquito

I had a bee in the bonnet to dig through some past writing and came upon these lyrics I wrote back in 2015.  I had a tune in mind for it...but that has long slipped my mind.  However, the  imagery of the roads that just get farther apart the farther they go really struck me....the paths are farther apart today than they were 10 years ago....

Valley of Decision --- 7/2015 (Joel 3:14)

 

V1 -  The stakes are getting higher; can’t ignore the choice

          Between the clamor of the culture and God’s still and tender voice

          In the Valley of Decision all the roads diverge

          No compromise can bridge the gap; opposites can’t merge

           In the valley…the valley of decision

 

Chorus:   Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision

                 The day of the Lord is near in the valley of decision

                  Find the truth, find the truth in the valley of decision

                  Guard it close, hold it dear in the valley of decision

                  In the valley of decision

 

V2 -  The sands of time drain away, there’s nowhere to hide

          See the choices growing sharper – small and narrow, large and wide

          In the valley of decision don’t be led astray

          The default path will lead to death; choose the one true way!

          In the valley, the valley of decision

 

Bridge:   Stand strong!  Stand long!

                Stand upon the Word of God!

                 Fix your eyes on Jesus Christ

                 There’s vict’ry in the hand of God!

What happened to Moses? What if....

 Posted by Lisa Laree to Catching the Mosquito

It's been over two decades since I finished BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) or at least the courses offered then.  7 years of detailed Bible Study; I still recommend it.  The last class I did was Life of Moses, and, as I studied him, I began to wonder what happened when he walked up Mount Nebo that last time...and wondered if maybe God answered the request he had made many years earlier...  I think I have published this on one of the other blogs, but it may have been a Facebook note.  

This is from 2002.

                                Crossing Over

                                               

I was foolish when I was young; I ran from my folly and hid until he called me.

I was yet foolish when he called me – “Send someone else!”

But he would not.  Instead he gave me my own staff,

a charge to bring his people out of slavery,

                                and a promise to be with me.

And he told me his name, and I went.

 

Only one request of mine did he deny –

                to blot out my name from his book

                                if the people’s sin was unforgivable.

But he said no –  those who sinned against him

                would be blotted out of the book

I could not substitute my name for theirs—

And the people suffered a plague for what they had done.

 

Only one request did he partly fulfill –

                ‘Show me your glory!’ I begged,

                                Desiring to see at last the face behind the voice

                                To know even as I was known.

But he said he would show me his goodness instead,

                For no man could look on his face and live—

And he proclaimed his name as he passed by the shelter he gave me.

I saw only his back, and it was too wondrous to describe.

 

All the rest he granted.  Every last one.

He sent the plagues on Egypt, gave us water when there was none,

Sent his own presence with us, healed my sister…year after year,

                What I asked for, he gave. You’d think the people would’ve noticed the pattern.

But each hardship seemed to confuse their memory—

                Egypt, they remembered as a place of comfort and plenty (They were slaves!)

                The miraculous provision they’d had since they left there they remembered not at all.

 I finally lost my temper and hit the rock.  Twice.

                He had told me to simply speak.

                                What can I say?  I was wrong.

At the very end, I asked one more favor -- to be allowed to go in and see the land beyond the Jordan.

But that request only made him angry; I will get no special dispensation.

I must bear the consequences of my own sin…just like the rest of my generation.

So now I am foolish in my old age, and Joshua will lead the people into their inheritance.

 

It has been a long walk from Egypt.

                One more walk up the mountain to gaze into the land I on which I will never walk.

It is a good land, and green.  If the people learn obedience, they will do well there.

 

Here I am.  Yes, Lord, I remember asking to see your glory.

                Do you mean NOW?

 

Ah, my Lord and my God! The glory!  The glory! The glory…!

 

But, you said no one could see your face and live…

                Why are you laughing?

                I did?

 

Oh.  I hadn’t noticed.

English Rose...

 Posted by Lisa Laree to Catching the Mosquito

It was August 31, 1997.

I remember we were heading out of the kitchen door through the garage to load up in the minivan and go to church.  I was carrying the one-year-old, following the older kids.  My Sweet Babboo picked up the Sunday paper from the yard, walked past me back into the garage as he rolled the rubber band off of it and glanced at the headline.

"Diana dead at thirty-six," he read in a shocked voice.

"What???" I stopped in my tracks and turned around.  

"She was in a car wreck," he explained as he set the paper on the top step in front of the kitchen door and followed me out of the garage.  "Reporters and photographers were chasing her car and they crashed."

I felt incredibly sad for someone who lived on the other side of the world and had nothing to do with me. "So that's what happened to Cinderella, " I commented.  "She was hounded to death by the paparazzi."

The whole world was shocked.  I watched the news, as did everyone...the tributes, the flowers, the grief.

A British goods store in town announced that they were collecting condolences in a book and had it available for anyone to go down and sign.

I wrestled with the idea, but a bit of poetry occurred to me, inspired by the mound of flowers in the news.  I scribbled it down, went over it a time or two, then loaded the  preschool kids into the van and went in search of the store with  only a knowledge of the street it was on.

I found the store; the book was on a low table.  There may have been a short line; my memory fails me there.  But I do remember that I crouched down to write and, with a four year old impatiently at my side and a 14- month old balanced on my knee, scribbled my verse into the margins of the book. Why the margin?  I still don't know.  Unless I was trying to leave room for other folks to sign.

Did anyone ever read it?  Doubtful.  Given the squirming kids I was dealing with, and my marginal scribbling, I'm not even sure it was legible.  But I thought about it earlier this week and decided today would be a good day to share it.

To an English Rose

September 5, 1997

 

All the flowers in Great Britain

Lie piled in the street,

Bearing silent witness

To the passing mourners’ feet.

Placed in solemn tribute

The bouquet yet still grows

To honor and remember

A single English Rose.

 

That Rose’s fragrance, wafted deep

Within her nation’s heart

And spread throughout all the world,

Should not so soon depart.

So let us give our flowers

And sing a mourner’s song.

Oh, let all the blossoms weep with us—

The English Rose is gone.

 

Ignition

 Posted by Lisa Laree to Catching the Mosquito

A new piece!  Just freshly written! I debated posting it here because it's actually for something else...but since only about twelve folks have found this corner of the blogsphere I think it's ok. And posting written pieces is literally why we're here, so...going for it.

We have had a call at church to artistic types to create visual art and literature around a particular theme.  I was kind of mulling it over anyway, because the theme 'All Flame' seemed rather inspirational, and when I heard there was a request for poetry, stories, pictures, essays, etc. on that theme, I decided to have a go.

I thought I was going to write a poem; I think what I have is a spoken word.  A short one, but still...

I don't know if this is quality enough to be collected with other submissions, but I like it.  It expressed my reaction to the subject well.

Ignition

Looking with longing at the One whose Flame ignited the stars, created light from nothing, burns away the dross but leaves the gold and gems, and purifies hearts.

Reaching for that embrace that will consume all and yet is but a transformation into His own Image.

Stepping into the baptism that opens a world uncomprehended to those untouched by the searing, searching, look that knows fully and yet loves fully.

Releasing that which is too dark and heavy and self-absorbed to endure the incandescent heat of His Presence; the fear and the pride that recoil from submission to the process of rebirth.

Yielding to the pruning, the stripping, the purging, to cultivate that which is real and eternal and priceless.

Inhaling the pneuma with the tongues of fire that generates the sound that demands the world’s attention and extracts the question, “What IS this? This thing that we don’t know or understand?”

Refusing to be doused under a basket that society would slap down, to contain and tame the light that distinguishes truth from the shadows of lies.  It cannot be stifled, quenched, dimmed or extinguished by any who love the dark.

No weapon will prosper against that light, many waters cannot quench that flame.  It does not bend, does not change, does not compromise.  Full devotion is its hallmark;  purity is its signature. 

Do we dare? 

Will we refuse to shrink back?

Can we open our hearts wide enough,

Deny our selves honestly enough

Allow Him access enough

To truly

Become

All Flame?