Dancing with my heart, my words, my song, and my love, before my God…

But let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, that those who
LOVE YOUR NAME may rejoice in you. Psalms 5:11

Friday, April 5, 2013

So Condemned My Heart Moves

Condemned, so condemned my heart moves yet You speak against this conclusive score.  But then why do I add all things up and come so short.  Why this irrevocable display before action and after action pounding to win its determined residence.  Why is sight positioned to toil against seasons of weakness, committed to bring my soul to winter in the heat of wondrous summer?   Why do I fight, with possessiveness, my right to hold to my own strength; and yet I see clearly that weakness is the fate of my days, observing my flesh giving way to death’s claim I return to dust? 
Condemned, domed to come to nothing; verses convicted, rising to favor Your Plan.   So closely woven that only worship, fixing my eyes to the One who bids me rest in the middle of these glaring failures, can divide and bring me to safety rather than falsely suffer in a dooms standing.  Precious is the death that gives me the meditation of new life; transforming my way to new memories of change.  
Bring me the fear of Poppa’s love.  For fear has the wisdom that does not allow false room to roam.  Fear is love wrapped in knowing.  When knowing, who would be foolish to move other ways.  Striking false with fear anoints its piercing point and brings sweet aroma to surface.  Fear produces solid focus with unfaltering vision.
I struggle taking my heart to many devotions and slip on false gods.  Convict with Your promise You love those You discipline.  Raise a standard in me where this fear that towers upon such love, destroys the voice of condemnation, as sweet scented conviction increases to kiss me away from ruin and direct me to abundant joy.   
When accusations attack to question where my treasure is, I want to be found guilty of cherishing the cross, cherishing the discipline that gives You absolute open freedom to say what You must and all words are devoured by my thirsty soul to drink in as if were my last.  I want this covering that gives the angel armies less work on me and more against my enemy.  I yearn for this hand of mercy so kind to trouble wrong within me and shake out distrust for total trust in Savior.  I want my words to be as a song playing in the background of Your love’s exposure.    You sing Poppa, and I will dance to each note.  You pour Poppa, and I will scatter it to icing the land.  I want my steps to be about following, not leading.  Your glory shine and I will reflect its brightness.   
Purify my heart, let me be as gold as I look upon Your Holy.