Did ever I know that weakness attracts God?
Somehow, it is His great delight to uphold weakness instead of gawking at might -
For surely, there is none strong when compared to Him.
We are all but wavering grasses in the wind.
But somehow He likes it this way.
He understood my smallness the day I was made and He called it "beautiful."
Written by Samantha Lindholm
April 27, 2013
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
The One I Want
I fidgeted uncomfortably, trembling inside of myself, looking at You. What were those roses for? Why was love written on Your face and what did I do to deserve - to win that most lovely affection?
I remember how my fingers began to shake, and peering down at them I wondered at these hands of mine, so ugly and frail. I wondered at the might in Your fists, one of which encircled a beautiful mess of flowers. Your face, though I could hardly look at it, was glowing with all the radiance that the sun had never known, and Your eyes, twinkling with such sincerity of delight, threw me off. Your crown, embodying the splendor of Your face, dazzled me. Swirls of light circulated around You, embracing me with such warmth as they passed. And then you spoke, and made me the most impossible offer. In that voice that sang my heartsong, You asked me for my love. Your words encompassed every hope that I could never wish for, while dreams sparkled in Your eyes.
"Will you marry me?"
Such an unthinkable thing came from You, I could hardly stand. My knees went weak as though to make manifest that ever-more-real understanding I was gaining of how undeserving I was. I couldn't even grasp the idea. You? Spend all Your generous affections on someone such as me? My garments were spattered with mud, stinking, shredded, and disgusting. Nothing in my face or manner could have possibly impressed You, and what's more, You understood and perceived my inner workings - those thoughts of insecurity and the resentments and selfishness that lay there entangled in my wretched weakness. Didn't you understand, I wondered incredulously, that I had nothing to offer You? There was no way I could profit You - no service I could bring. Not a connection did I possess; there wasn't a single perfect quality that I could say I owned.
I stammered and stuttered, but the look in Your eyes said it all. In a moment every bit of my unworthiness was before me, and I knew You knew it all. I looked at that crown once more, but before I could blink it withered and pressed into Your skull, and there it was: a crown of thorns. And Your face which I could not help but adore lost all its radiance except for the shining love in those eyes, and lacerations and blood replaced clean skin. The light around You diffused, swirling away until there was darkness and an overcast sky. Jeers and tears projected from every corner where faces were assembled round about. Your back, so bare and red, pressed with extreme exertion against a great, wooden cross. You stumbled. They spat. You fell to the ground. I could see You recoil from that sting of dust in Your open wounds - those wounds so deep that muscle and even bone protruded unnaturally. A man in agony is what I saw, and my heart painfully broke to see them whip You more. Scabs opened anew. Your swollen face puffed with effort to rise again. Your legs trembled. You dripped blood and flinched with pain. But somewhere in the middle of all this, when Your eyes had been looking down in that effort of raising Yourself up off the ground, I saw You pause and look at me. And I. Fell. Down.
Your gaze, it pierced me so deep. Love! It pursued me jealously, relentlessly, and passionately. It found me on my face, weeping in the dust. My heart was melting into Yours. I felt it all over. You told me I was the joy on Your horizon - the very one you were doing this for. That light that lived in You - such humility, meekness, forgiveness, and tenderness! - It filled all of my dark, weak, wounded places, exposing those scabs and scars and untreated lacerations in my soul that I had hidden for their ugliness. No! It can't be! Don't touch those places! Don't You know that I'm wretched?! I've denied You with these actions, these words! I've mocked You! I've hated You! I have been Your enemy! Don't You understand?! Everything in my heart that was broken bled, but ignoring my every guilty plea, I felt Your hand on my soul.
"You're the one I want," You said.
With that I was lost. Every excuse fell away as I watched them fix You to that cross. I heard the nails. I heard Your cries. I saw your eyes. There was no regret, disgust, shame, or disdain. You openly, You willingly embraced my shame without second thought. It was there that You poured out Your life for me; it was there where You traded Your life for mine.
The images faded, fell, and gave way again to Your glorious light; Your glorious face. But all I knew was Your embrace as You held me, wiping my tears.
Jesus, I surrender to Your love. Your love is enough. Come and enjoy me. In this weak and broken state, where I can offer You no beauty but the beauty of a lovesick heart, have all that I am.
And I can hear Him say again, "You are the one that I want."
Written on November 21, 2010
By Samantha Lindholm
I remember how my fingers began to shake, and peering down at them I wondered at these hands of mine, so ugly and frail. I wondered at the might in Your fists, one of which encircled a beautiful mess of flowers. Your face, though I could hardly look at it, was glowing with all the radiance that the sun had never known, and Your eyes, twinkling with such sincerity of delight, threw me off. Your crown, embodying the splendor of Your face, dazzled me. Swirls of light circulated around You, embracing me with such warmth as they passed. And then you spoke, and made me the most impossible offer. In that voice that sang my heartsong, You asked me for my love. Your words encompassed every hope that I could never wish for, while dreams sparkled in Your eyes.
"Will you marry me?"
Such an unthinkable thing came from You, I could hardly stand. My knees went weak as though to make manifest that ever-more-real understanding I was gaining of how undeserving I was. I couldn't even grasp the idea. You? Spend all Your generous affections on someone such as me? My garments were spattered with mud, stinking, shredded, and disgusting. Nothing in my face or manner could have possibly impressed You, and what's more, You understood and perceived my inner workings - those thoughts of insecurity and the resentments and selfishness that lay there entangled in my wretched weakness. Didn't you understand, I wondered incredulously, that I had nothing to offer You? There was no way I could profit You - no service I could bring. Not a connection did I possess; there wasn't a single perfect quality that I could say I owned.
I stammered and stuttered, but the look in Your eyes said it all. In a moment every bit of my unworthiness was before me, and I knew You knew it all. I looked at that crown once more, but before I could blink it withered and pressed into Your skull, and there it was: a crown of thorns. And Your face which I could not help but adore lost all its radiance except for the shining love in those eyes, and lacerations and blood replaced clean skin. The light around You diffused, swirling away until there was darkness and an overcast sky. Jeers and tears projected from every corner where faces were assembled round about. Your back, so bare and red, pressed with extreme exertion against a great, wooden cross. You stumbled. They spat. You fell to the ground. I could see You recoil from that sting of dust in Your open wounds - those wounds so deep that muscle and even bone protruded unnaturally. A man in agony is what I saw, and my heart painfully broke to see them whip You more. Scabs opened anew. Your swollen face puffed with effort to rise again. Your legs trembled. You dripped blood and flinched with pain. But somewhere in the middle of all this, when Your eyes had been looking down in that effort of raising Yourself up off the ground, I saw You pause and look at me. And I. Fell. Down.
Your gaze, it pierced me so deep. Love! It pursued me jealously, relentlessly, and passionately. It found me on my face, weeping in the dust. My heart was melting into Yours. I felt it all over. You told me I was the joy on Your horizon - the very one you were doing this for. That light that lived in You - such humility, meekness, forgiveness, and tenderness! - It filled all of my dark, weak, wounded places, exposing those scabs and scars and untreated lacerations in my soul that I had hidden for their ugliness. No! It can't be! Don't touch those places! Don't You know that I'm wretched?! I've denied You with these actions, these words! I've mocked You! I've hated You! I have been Your enemy! Don't You understand?! Everything in my heart that was broken bled, but ignoring my every guilty plea, I felt Your hand on my soul.
"You're the one I want," You said.
With that I was lost. Every excuse fell away as I watched them fix You to that cross. I heard the nails. I heard Your cries. I saw your eyes. There was no regret, disgust, shame, or disdain. You openly, You willingly embraced my shame without second thought. It was there that You poured out Your life for me; it was there where You traded Your life for mine.
The images faded, fell, and gave way again to Your glorious light; Your glorious face. But all I knew was Your embrace as You held me, wiping my tears.
Jesus, I surrender to Your love. Your love is enough. Come and enjoy me. In this weak and broken state, where I can offer You no beauty but the beauty of a lovesick heart, have all that I am.
And I can hear Him say again, "You are the one that I want."
Written on November 21, 2010
By Samantha Lindholm
Friday, April 5, 2013
Into the Name
Who are You?
Your face is wreathed in darkness,
The most compelling darkness.
The clouds that bow and burn beneath Your feet,
The tearing wind that whirls,
The mountains quaking, trembling at the Name -
The Name that with blood ransoms.
Who are You?
Your face is burning light,
The Great Unapproachable light.
Stroking the sky with brilliant rays of sun,
You awaken everyone with the gentle morning fire.
The sea that rocks and rolls beneath Your breath,
The jubilant brooks throwing themselves into the depths of the earth,
The unsung song of all Your worth.
Who are You?
You paint Your name on every living thing.
Day and night, You've made rich this moving canvas -
Rich with expressions, metaphors, glimpses into the Divine, the Eternal -
But I am just a vapor. How can I understand what I cannot comprehend?
Alighting, curling into tomorrow; my little breath is my small prayer.
Where are You and will You take me there?
Written by Samantha Lindholm
April 5, 2013
Your face is wreathed in darkness,
The most compelling darkness.
The clouds that bow and burn beneath Your feet,
The tearing wind that whirls,
The mountains quaking, trembling at the Name -
The Name that with blood ransoms.
Who are You?
Your face is burning light,
The Great Unapproachable light.
Stroking the sky with brilliant rays of sun,
You awaken everyone with the gentle morning fire.
The sea that rocks and rolls beneath Your breath,
The jubilant brooks throwing themselves into the depths of the earth,
The unsung song of all Your worth.
Who are You?
You paint Your name on every living thing.
Day and night, You've made rich this moving canvas -
Rich with expressions, metaphors, glimpses into the Divine, the Eternal -
But I am just a vapor. How can I understand what I cannot comprehend?
Alighting, curling into tomorrow; my little breath is my small prayer.
Where are You and will You take me there?
Written by Samantha Lindholm
April 5, 2013
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Mud is Beautiful
The soil of my soul rippling under the brawny sun,
Hard like the bark of a tired tree.
The plants drank deeply in seasons past,
But 'neath the sun now they fast.
The claws of a toothy rake can barely reach past that stiff topsoil.
Sweeping winds that howl and dance despise the earthy crust.
The bitter-hard seasons of my life.
But now the sun that smites is overtaken by mysteriously glorious cloud,
Its sultry face hidden; hidden is that arched brow beneath the smiling lips of storm!
It breaks, it breaks! Breaking rivers and torrents of laughter
Where the weary deadness lay.
Swirling, watery loveliness washing away
All my sorrow and decay.
The cracks of a parched heart becoming sticky like the mire,
Then joyful in streaks of silvery rain
To laugh and dance, rejoice and play!
Here, ankle-deep in mud, bonded to the heart of the earth,
I stretch my hands out wide and smile.
I finger-paint with clay on stones and
Enjoy the mess, the sweet of restlessness.
My Maker makes an oasis in the desert through cloud and storm.
Where my soul once languished, He has made it sing!
By Samantha Lindholm
April 3, 2013
---------------------
I am ever-amazed how quickly and nimbly the Lord takes hold of my trial and my suffering and turns mourning into song! In this poem, it would seem that storm clouds would mean foreboding and darkness, but with the Lord it isn't so. With Him, the rain brings life to a heart that was dry! Jesus, thank You for my trials that You have turned into joy!
Hard like the bark of a tired tree.
The plants drank deeply in seasons past,
But 'neath the sun now they fast.
The claws of a toothy rake can barely reach past that stiff topsoil.
Sweeping winds that howl and dance despise the earthy crust.
The bitter-hard seasons of my life.
But now the sun that smites is overtaken by mysteriously glorious cloud,
Its sultry face hidden; hidden is that arched brow beneath the smiling lips of storm!
It breaks, it breaks! Breaking rivers and torrents of laughter
Where the weary deadness lay.
Swirling, watery loveliness washing away
All my sorrow and decay.
The cracks of a parched heart becoming sticky like the mire,
Then joyful in streaks of silvery rain
To laugh and dance, rejoice and play!
Here, ankle-deep in mud, bonded to the heart of the earth,
I stretch my hands out wide and smile.
I finger-paint with clay on stones and
Enjoy the mess, the sweet of restlessness.
My Maker makes an oasis in the desert through cloud and storm.
Where my soul once languished, He has made it sing!
By Samantha Lindholm
April 3, 2013
---------------------
I am ever-amazed how quickly and nimbly the Lord takes hold of my trial and my suffering and turns mourning into song! In this poem, it would seem that storm clouds would mean foreboding and darkness, but with the Lord it isn't so. With Him, the rain brings life to a heart that was dry! Jesus, thank You for my trials that You have turned into joy!
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