stale wind

Move my stale wind

Shake my crumbling ground

Birth in me, a new tender, loving heart.

Move my stale wind

Shake my crumbling ground

Birth in me, a river that wont run out.

Oh, I am worse than the blind

For I have seeing eyes, that can’t receive your light

I am worse than the mute, for I have the ability to form words and speak

but I refuse to tell the truth.

Yes, I am worse than them all

For you have called me out

from among the crowd

but I choose to ignore your call

So move my stale wind

Shake my crumbling ground

Plant in me, a new living seed

one which grows despite the drought.

provider > provision


Help me to understand, how people can love something that fits in the palm of their hand.

Something that is touchable, containable, mesmerizing, and yet still predictable.

Something created using energy or units taken from the periodic table.

They can love these things so easily, but fail to ever think twice,

that perhaps the creator of these things, could be worth a higher price.

How do we get more wrapped up in the things created,

than in the very being who has spoken them into existence?

For we must give up our addiction for seeking after only your provisions.

We must learn to properly fear you, for you alone are the author of all creation.

So teach us how to hold onto you, instead of what you’ve given.

creation’s song

All Thy works were done through joy

Earth and heaven reflect His ways

Stars and angels sing Him songs,

 of the purest, highest praise.

Center of unbroken promises

Field, forest, valley and mountain

Blooming meadows, storming seas

Singing birds and flowing streams

Call us all to rejoice in Thee.


Miracles flow through Thy fountain’s pen

To which He wrote the great expanse

For this we now, chose to pledge,

to be the paper for Thy plan.