Tales from the workshop....

The first part of this poem was found on Suddenly Christian today, I added the second stanza. It took me less than 30 min to write and post it on that blog. Right after doing so it lead to an exploration of an important topic from Ephesians. I hope you enjoy it!

In Religion on September 12, 2008 at 11:23 pm
It’s time for us to be brilliant now
To break through battered clouds
It’s time for us to be brilliant now
To cast off tattered shrouds
It’s time for us to be brilliant now
God’s bored, he cannot wait
It’s time for us to be brilliant now
It’s Him; it’s us; it’s late.

The brilliance that you speak of
can only be from love.
The kind that’s sacrificial,
an outpouring from above.
The brilliance that we need
touches each and every man.
For God so loved the world,
His Son did all He can,
To teach us how to shine His light
where darkness is prevailing.
Let’s live in brilliant hope,
for in His love there is no failing.

Love never fails. I Corinthians 13:8

"For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them." - Ephesians 2:10
A book entitled, “The Bride’s Pearl” by Brian Kinsey is a commentary written on the book of Ephesians. It explains that the word workmanship used in the Greek translates poiema, meaning the act of creating, work of art, or masterpiece. We get the word poem from this word that makes me think how beautifully we can be shaped by God the Divine Artist. He teaches us, His projects in the work, so we can discern and even take part as His students of Art .

Why I like poetry?
Funny you should ask, but early in my life I thought poetry was mostly unclear sappy gibberish. But then I began to write a few and I realized there was more to it. My sister, who was a year and 10 months older than me, was a dedicated poet who often passed me many of her poems for late night reviews and exchange of thought. Sometimes it was little exasperating for me because she would often present 3-4 works at a time just when my eyes were in the half opened state. Perhaps that was a brilliant strategy on her part realizing the worst response the poems could elicit was a tired polite, “that’s really nice” or perhaps that rare, “well what made you write about this topic” from a more wide awake devoted reader.
My memory has a mix of both, as well as vivid recount and respect of the right hemisphere’s tendency to be a bit of a creature of the night. While one was writing poetry, my other sister, who was the firstborn, was composing music and lyrics on our old Wurlitzer upright piano. Notes striking typically at the midnight hour. Is it any wonder I became a night owl in those early years of menarche? Hormones and poetry…ahh now that is something I could really explore further but in the words of Scarlet Ohara, I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow.