Thursday, September 24, 2009

His Day, Not Mine

My dreams fade as the sound of a beeping wake my reality.
I climb out of comfort dragging my feet for another day
And walk with indifference to clean my body of wickedness.
The water drips over me
With my eyes closed
And hands against the wall.
My mind calms as I meditate on the sound of dripping water
And the touch of warm purity that hits my shoulders.
Thoughts wonder from one to another
Concerning my life and how it is lived
But I rid myself of such thoughts
Cause the burden of stress is like acid.

After the handle is turned and the water ceases
I make my way back to what I now consider "home"
To dress with first a sock and finally a shirt.
I look in the mirror as if to try and gain a kind of acceptance
But 1st Peter intervenes.
So I sit down and open my guide to a better life.
A life of purity
A life of discipline
A life of love

After some spiritual insight
The clock tells me its time to start the day
And the book next to it tells me
To start it right.
So as I walk downstairs towards the doors
Separating me from the outside world
I ask myself if this will be my day
Or His.
But as I walk through those doors I quickly realize
This should be His day.
I see the sun shine through the morning dew
And the branches on the trees reaching towards the Heavens.
The wind hits my face as if to say, "Good Morning"
While the suns rays warm my upper back.
I take a look at the creation that my Creator has made
And can't help but be comforted by the grace of our God.
His art far outweighs Van Gogh or Michelangelo's
For his art lives and breathes.
It turns a small seed into a Redwood.
It turns coal and pressure into a priceless stone.
It turns love into a living breathing baby.
I'm reminded everyday I step outside
That this isn't my day
This is His day.

The day goes on and His beauty screams its magnificence
Though we live in a society where most are deaf
And most are blind to the most obvious.
So I do my best to open my eyes and ears
To what was created around me
So that I might worship Yahweh
The creator of the Heavens and Earth.

We are the paint on His canvas
We are clay in His hands
We are his creation.
And that is why this should be His day
Not mine.
So as I walk on the manmade concrete
Towards a classroom of insignificance
I glance at the grass
The trees
The flowers
And the clouds
And realize the comfort is not where I left my dreams,
It's when I begin my day