September 6, 2019


 Vainglory finds us 

but glory is rare. 


Glory is the birth of a baby. 

Unknown to the cosmos 

for the quiet centuries 

before it announces itself.


Glory is a love that is self-giving, 

that does not have the taint of 

its own advantage. 


Glory is the advent of a summer evening, 

its light burnished in the west, 

the perfect moment in time. 


Glory is Superior’s diamonds 

reflected forever toward 

the horizon.


The mountain standing stalwart, 

its brightness challenging the sky. 


These are but shadows. 


Bodies that are born again, 

the seed buried in the earth 

only to rise, only to flower, 

to grow strong. 


The gracious invitation to 

an undeserved celebration, 

coming home not to shame 

but to unrivaled joy. 


Glory, the earth transformed! 

Changed, renewed, its gears 

realigned. Its beauty made 

even more startling 

and magnificent. 


The awesome power of a 

summer storm wrapped 

into eternity. 


Glory awaits us. We pause 

to comprehend and feel 

only its approximation. 


We wait, let in on its secret. 

Love and power in one silken place. 

A chorus where majesty 

will make us weep. 


A glory that never fails. 

Surprises never silenced, 

never dimmed. 


The weight of the Eternal 

pressing down on us, 

catching our breath, 

opening eyes 

that once thought 

they could see. 


Humbled thankfulness, 

unimagined joy, 

ravished by the Giving Heart,


that drumbeat throbbing 

throughout all creation.



From a new book I am considering:

Soujourner of the Spirit. Any thoughts?

Text me or comment on F/B. Thanks.

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