Be Still and Know

In the beginning:

When the mountain arranged before me

is gravid with isolation, specks of misguided identity

and a bedrock of questionable passions and purpose



I recall encounters He had in plenty,

but fail to prioritize the loneliness Yeshua permitted His heart to bear.

How dare I compare my temporary isolation

To the one who carried the weight of the world, disguised as wood, on His shoulders;

Yet no one was aware.



I thank you that you find me where I lost myself;

On the path where my vulnerability must dance around a mosh pit of irrelevant failures,

Resembling a dance where one tip-toes back and fourth across a thin fine line.

“My destructive habits.” “Your sustaining grace.”

“I am my own.” “Created in His own image.”

Only to realize that this thin fine line does not constitute a distinction between

my way


Your will,

But rather, It is a silk thread that interlaces to create a robe of righteousness, and garments of salvation.

Each one labeled with your guaranteed confidence.

One to call my own;

You are mine.


Potential Plans/Questioned Purpose:

My ambition to create a masterpiece using the dry earth beneath my feet,

For a split second allows me to feel as though I can flawlessly replicate

your effortless ability to breathe and order galaxies to be born,

which I never succeed amicably.


At times I realize I am not building an exquisite cathedral to glorify Your goodness,

like I’d like to fool myself into believing;

But rather, in the mishaps of my own blueprints, I am left constructing walls, which I’m forced to decorate with white florentine silk to mask the resembles of prison cells.

In my own efforts, I attempt to salvage this architectural mistake, brick by brick,

to defer from the acknowledgment that my own design only established my own imprisonment.


Yet, You are the same God that turns atomic bombs into shooting stars

You turn the walls of my mistakes that imprison me,

Into walls that keep me safe.

For by grace you have been saved.

And it no longer exists as a cage built from bricks,

but rather a glass box, which although is transparent,

can carry the weight of my failures and Your boundless graces towards me.


Don’t be mistake child,

You are not a shiny glass box anticipating your downfall, only to fear shattering into a million pieces

When placed in the wrong hands.

You are the porcelain jewelry box your mom left you with, securing jewels and rubies within.

And although you may hide away diamonds and dust, because you’re afraid to open up,

you hold the power to carry joy and peace,

even when all that’s for sale is fear and doubt.


And remember child,

you too possess the power to speak to your mountains,

because after all, mountains are meant to be moved.

Not carried.

And the power within you, is greater than any power around you.


The same stones designed to create a tomb which could not hold You,

crumbled from the same bed of stone that embedded the mountain,

which could not crush me.


For You are my sun, and my shield,

Who surrounds me with glory and grace.

As the mountains surround me on the east and the west,

I will surrender the notion of perceiving these mountains as snares closing in,

But rather, as an opportunity to welcome You near.


Poised with Unconditional Love,

Undoubtedly Undaunted.

This poem is about: 


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