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Poetry from the Creative Arts Ministry

Posted by Lydia Kinne & Other on May 21, 2023
Poetry from the Creative Arts Ministry
Portion of a gouache painting by Megan Ott.

Forsaken Life, True Life

By Evan Hammond

As a boat with torn sails, I cannot go on.

And as one without anchor, neither can I stay steadied.

The watery mountains forbid my ship, Life, from its path.

The wind and waves toss me in terror and dark.

Life is proven by the storms to be worthless,

A thing patched together by a man born blind.

Yet I think on my broken boat as one with great beauty,

And keep to it as my only grace in a cruel world.

However tightly I cling, the hurricane threatens destruction,

And its fury will indeed pull me down.

I deny it, but there is no hope for Life, none for me.

But as my heart’s strength fails, I see a light across the sea.

It breaks through the clouds and the dark,

A beacon of glory, revealing a saving ark.

I see one shining like the Son of God,

Come that I might know and chase true life!

As I gaze toward Him, my eyes meet the true face of grace.

My desire turns to nothing less than the light;

My heart yearns to pursue Him.

Yet to be with my Savior, my dear Life I must leave,

My own vessel which I thought so true.

When I look on it now, I only see ripped sails.

The thing my heart once held so high and splendorous,

I see now is useless driftwood.

If in this Life I cannot be with my truest desire,

Then my Life I will forsake to gain my Savior.

With no second thought and no fear of regret,

I step over the edge to follow my heart’s truer hope.

I forsake my old Life and come at this light’s, this King’s invite,

Trusting He is good, and that His promise is true.

By a miracle not my own, I begin to walk upon chaos,

And with eyes fixed on salvation, I tread across watery death!

Then the light is buried behind a swelling wet crest,

And the hope of my soul seems buried with it.

The light does not return to my eyes,

And with lost sight my faith is lost also.

The turbulent horror leaps and takes me

As I sink in confusion after my light forsook me.

Yet, ere the wet abyss claims me, I remember His promise.

Surely my Savior vowed to keep me; I trust not in lies.

I know though sight fails to reveal my hope,

I have not been forgotten to utter darkness.

I discover I still have power not mine,

To keep my head above the waves.

So I swim with strength I do not have

Toward something I cannot see.

What upholds me to bear more than I can bear,

And to tread waters stronger than me?

The glory of a King greater than great,

The fear of a Lord higher than high,

The love of a Father I cannot describe.

Though now invisible, I know not imagined

Was that King above kings and Lord above lords.

There is nothing else I could think to turn to now.

“Whom have I in heaven but you?

And earth has nothing I desire besides you.

My flesh and my heart may fail,

But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

One day, my faith will be turned again to sight.

By my God’s strength I will conquer to the end,

And be with my King, by whom all wounds will mend.


Shape My Desires According to the Cross

By Lydia Kinne

I ask you, oh Lord,

To shape my desires

According to the cross.

Let me not demand

That my desires

Be met according

To my ways and my time.

Rather, take these desires—

Sweet as they may be—

And make of them

Something far sweeter

As I learn to trust you

In the slow waiting.

Help me to see in my desires

Reflections of you and your goodness

Coloring and shaping them

In glimmers of heavenly hope.

When the weight of these desires

Becomes too heavy for me

To bear on my own,

May I cast them on you

Knowing your love will hold them all.

Teach me not to despair

Or fall into selfish self-pity,

But rather turn my desires

Into prayer, service, and faith.

Open my eyes to the way

That this process—

The pang of longing,

The lament of absence,

The humility of submission,

The obedience of waiting—

Is shaping me to be more like you.

I know no other way

Than the cruciform way

Of laboring in secret places

In tearful, exhausted prayers—

—and I know this is the best way.

For you are refining me

Into pure gold

And the end result

Will be more beautiful

Than I can even imagine.


Acrylic Painting by Lily McCullough.


Psalm of Lament

By an anonymous Faith member

Deep within the dark I dwell

My home is made among the gloom

I am fatherless

My father has forgotten my name

I am motherless

The one who gave me birth knows me not

I am brotherless

Those who I embraced have sold me for naught

My body is weary

My strength fails me

Mine enemy lurks upon my flank

10,000 arrows arc towards me

The muck and the mire bind my feet

Sheol is near

Pestilence rules the day

Disease is my nearest companion

Sheol is near



Why do you hide your face from me O LORD?

Why have you turned from me?

Am I not the forsaken you seek?

The meek you blessed?

How low am I?

None are lower

Yet to whom shall I turn?

Will these stone walls protect?

Will my wealth save me?

Will my wisdom deliver me?

Will my clever schemes rescue me?

My belly is full yet I hunger

I draw from the well yet my lips are parched

Oh how wicked and small am I

Is there another who champions the fatherless?

Is there any who love the orphan?

Who else embraces the leper?

But you O Lord?



My body fails me and my mind betrays me but my heart cries out to you alone

To you O Lord my heart calls for reprieve

May you cast your shadow upon me

For though I dwell in the darkness of despair your shadow is like sunshine to me

Place your hand upon me

For though none will touch me your nearness is a salve

May I rest at your feet O Lord? El Shaddai?

For though I am surrounded by vile armies I would sleep peacefully in your presence

You deliver

You save

You strike down the usurper and cast aside the arrows with a wave of your hand

For though the darkness lurks and the pestilences knock at my door

Do you provide succor and rest

Augment my faith O Lord

Strengthen my resolve

Raise me up from the mire, the bog, the swamp of despondence

You are my father, and mother and brother

You are the healer

The gleaming sword of righteous fire

I am weak

But you are strong

Praise be to you

My lips sing your song




Lydia Kinne

Lydia is a teacher, poet, and blogger, who serves various ministries here at Faith. You can read more of her writing at

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