A Christian Poem About God’s Love, Grace, and Renewal

Jesus Poem About God’s Love, Grace, and Renewal

horizon-768759_640

Beyond the Break of Dawn

Beyond the break of dawn
Hope sings a renewal song
To start anew –
To begin a journey out of the darkness
of your past and into the now.

Beyond the break of dawn
is the unbreakable promise that my wrongs are gone,
that guilt will no longer hang over my head
like an ax-wielding executioner, ready to strike.

Beyond the break of dawn
lies the inspiration to carry on.
The crushing veil of night has been lifted
and my eyes are able to see a new day before me.

Beyond the break of dawn,
after a darkness fought so long,
after many sleepless nights beneath the shadow of hopelessness,
waits the gift of love, grace, and renewal.

The Son rises in his glory,
hanging high with outstretched hands,
and all of what once was is hushed to sleep.
Love rises out to meet us
on the road to freedom
and grips our hand with belief,
yet transcends the limitations of the human mind.
God rests us in the palm of his glory,
giving us the only promise we’ll ever need
and rewrites a once hopeless story.

-Poem Written by Justin Farley

Beyond the Poetry

God’s love transcends the vastness of our darkness, some of which we’ve created and some which is an inevitable part of life. One of the greatest gifts that Christianity offers is the promise of love, grace, renewal, restoration, and forgiveness. Dark days are followed by sunny skies and joyful living. It’s never too late to come home and accept the love and grace that is extended to everyone, regardless of race, gender, or age.

Dawn is a beautiful thing to witness. It goes deeper than beauty that you see in the sky. It’s a reminder that there is always a chance for a new day and that your life is not so broken that it can’t be restored. I think that’s a feeling that all humans feel, regardless of whether you believe in God or not. But the work and love of Jesus is an even greater dawn that pulls you out of a darkness so thick that it seems to be impossible to navigate out of. Jesus gives you a hope when hope seems lost. Jesus gives you a life when life once only felt like death.

The power of God’s love and transformation lies in the fact that we don’t have to fix all the damage that we’ve done; he’s done it for us. It’s a forgiveness of all our debts that we know are beyond the reality of ever paying back. It’s a loving hand of grace willing to completely wipe out the scoreboard and let us start over. Not once. Not twice. But every single day, we get another chance to accept God’s love and grace and leave behind the mistakes of yesterday.

You may also enjoy some of my other Christian Poetry.

Advertisements

Inspirational Parenting Poem About Raising a Child

“The Art of Parenting” – A Inspirational Poem About Being A Parent

blue-glass-heart-2211114_640

Parenting is like carving a sculpture from glass –
too rough and it shatters;
too delicate and you leave the edges too jagged
and the corners too sharp,
sure to find failure and breed a selfish heart.
The sculptor must bear the cuts and bruises
if the piece is to become a true work of art,
chipping away small fragments of imperfection
each time a hateful yell or scream provides an examination,
molding character and values with imperfect hands.
There are frequent failures and regretted actions,
but you wake each day determined to do the best you can.
From experience will come wisdom,
and as soon as you become wise,
you’ll find you’re a fool.
This thing called parenting has no manuals or fit-alls
and has few hard-written rules.
Some days end with a rewarding smile,
others with frustrating sighs.
But the goal is not friendship or perfection.
It’s to prepare a child for life.

– Poem Written by Justin Farley

Behind the Poetry

Parenting is one of the most difficult jobs in the world. The few parenting skills that are required are patience, more patience, self-control, discipline, selflessness, and unconditional love – all of which most people find are their greatest weaknesses. Some days kids are a blessing to be around, the next so miserable that you feel you’re going to lose it if you hear one more complaint.

Raising kids is an art in a sense. You start with a person that has no “form” to their character and values, and your task is to shape and mold your child as he or she grows. But this piece can move, talk, fight back, defy, love, bless, care, be happy, angry, sad, hyper, and a slew of other emotions. It’s tough work and does require lots of patience and sometimes, a not so pleasant examination of yourself. The reward though is that you have a piece of art, God’s art, that is beautiful and alive, able to think for themselves and to interact with and love.

There are countless books, tapes, and videos that claim to teach you how to be a parent. They may provide some guidance, but we all know that each child is different and what works for one child backfires with another. No, parenting is like art – you learn by doing. You get your hands dirty and jump in there, sure to make mistakes, but you keep trying day after day to learn all you can about your “craft”.

Beauty is often born from chaos, and kids can create a lot of it. Parenthood sometimes can feel like a constant struggle to just keep the chaos contained long enough that it doesn’t fall apart. But then you have good days, and you realize that it was never meant to be easy. When you raise your kids right, you are forced to also raise yourself…to grow alongside them. One of a child’s greatest skills is pulling every negative part of your character out of the hidden parts of your heart and putting them on display. You have to look at that part of you and decide if that’s someone you want you child to be around. And they unknowingly push us to change for the better. In the end, we teach each other about life, love, and what it means to be a family.

Poem About Seasons Changing – When Autumn Leaves

“When Autumn Leaves” – A Poem About Seasons Changing From Fall to Winter

frost-fall-changing-seasons

I take my dog out the front door to do his morning business
and feel temperature change whip me in the face –
chilly air burning and freezing my nostrils simultaneously.
Overnight a lush, green carpet has transformed
into a frost-tipped arena of ice.

Blades of grass poke up like tiny daggers.
With each footstep, they pierce my hope for Autumn to stay.
The rays of the days have been wasting away –
dark by the time work’s done with no light for play.
And of Autumn, I fear she’s reached her death.

Frost isn’t welcome here.
But Nature defies my every command.
She controls the tides of the seasons
as an unseen, unstoppable force,
moving across the realms of life like an invisible hand,
brewing chaos and bringing order,
destroying life and creating life
without uttering a word.
Silent, but always heard
by all forces of life in this world.

I must cave to her order.
But admit I am not ready for when Autumn leaves –
when she packs up her warmth and color,
when the fiery flames of pumpkins are extinguished
by rot and mold,
when greenery withers in agony when kissed
by the north wind’s harsh breath.

But I must submit to Autumn’s death
because Winter comes without my blessing.
I see frost from my doorstep this morning
and know it won’t be long before Winter arrives.

About the Poem

Living in Indiana, it seems fall is always too short. It is by far my favorite season, and I feel I never get enough of it. Many years, by the time your notice that the leaves are changing color, the temperature is finally cooling down, and it actually feels like fall, a week later it’s bitter cold and snowing. As much as I hate the changing of seasons from fall to winter, I am grateful to live in a state where there are stark contrasts from season to season. With the seasons changing, it reminds you that nothing is meant to stay the same forever. The seasons change, and we must adapt, year after year, as we are called to do. They also humble us and remind us that there are greater powers in the world. But it’s never easy for me to see the first hard frost and know that fall is about over and winter is just around the corner.

You may also enjoy another of my poems about the changing seasons, “Frost of the Field” or you can find all of my poems on nature HERE

Poem About Modern Society Issues and the Negative Effects of Technology

6698785557_19d5e9e6ed_zSleepy Little Village – A Poem About Modern Society Issues and the Negative Effects of Technology

Sleepy little village,
existing in the past, outside of modern times,
did you have more comfort
than among the abundance of modern life?

Sleepy little village,
where all work was done by the hands,
were you more in tune with life’s purpose?
Were you closer to living out the Master’s plan?

Sleepy little village,
slave to weather and Mother Nature’s time,
did harmony and your dependence keep you rested?
Did you know how to slow the wheels of the mind?

Sleepy little village,
full of few possessions – poor, just getting by,
did you know more joy and happiness
than an age where refusals are met with entitled replies?

Sleepy little village,
where townsfolk talk as neighbors and kin,
were you more enlightened on how to love and comfort?
Were you more educated than us on the meaning of “friend”?

Sleepy little village,
simple – without convenience and modern charm,
look at all our wonderful advances…
Has technology eased our burdens or added more to drag along?

-Poem Written by Justin Farley

You may also like another poem of mine about modern society issues, “The Deathbed Confessions of an Old Woman”.


Picture taken from https://flic.kr/p/bcX2yH

Inspirational Poem About Life Journey and Success One Step At A Time

stairs-1209439_640

One Step At A Time – An Inspirational Poem About Life Journey

A spiral, wooden staircase
reaches up like crooked branches –
oak fingers, determined to touch the sky.

Stairs with ornate, hand-carved railings
make way for impossible feats and give
wingless creatures a chance to fly.

And I stand humble before them,
wondering where they lead
and how high they climb.

A thousand steps is too many,
but one at a time seems possible
if I keep my head level and eyes blind.

Every journey begins distant –
hard, unfathomable, unimaginable,
while peering across the sands of time.

But complacency is a curse
that stands ready with force
to defend comfort in the battle of the mind.

Life is one continuous climb.
Each day one step closer to
the potential written in your heart.

No need for giant leaps
or desperate measures destined for defeat,
but you must find somewhere to start.

Progress comes to those who push onward,
planting seeds even when tired
and a day off is a tempting reward.

For excuses quickly become reasons
to idly watch months go by
without a step forward.

It’s the small choices you make
compounded over a lifetime
that leave you in the plains or push you to the peak.

At the end of life’s journey,
the number of seeds you’ve sown
determines the character you reap.

-Poem Written by Justin Farley

About the Poem

I think we all have a place where we are and a place in our mind where we want to be. The gap between those two places can be overwhelming and cause many struggles along our life journey. Personally, I have the struggle with feast or famine – I’m either all in and try to drastically alter everything in my life overnight or feel defeated by how many changes I know I need to make and do nothing.

Life is similar to a spiral staircase that leads up to who we want to be and our idea of success. You don’t reach the top by quick sprints or you’re bound to get burnt out and tired. I have the temptation to try to change my big life struggles right away, but those can only be overcome with work and time. The way to the top comes by doing the small things right everyday and making good choices in the small decisions. Small baby steps everyday accumulate into major growth in our life journey over weeks, months, and years. Small steps prevent us from becoming too overwhelmed and inspire us to keep going during life’s struggles. One day at a time, one step at a time, we will reach our life goals and everyday move closer to who we want to be and further away from who we are.

Where are you right now in life?

Where do you want to be or what is the difference between your “ideal” self and who you are now?

What small steps can you do everyday to put you closer to achieving your goals in life?

The journey in life is never easy, but keeping your progress small, manageable, and attainable snowballs into drastic change over time.

If you enjoyed this post, you may also enjoy my similar poem,“Today”, which is about inspiring change in your life and taking the first step in your life journey.

Poem About Recovery From Addiction – The Streets of Delusion

architecture-2564442_640

The Streets of Delusion – A Poem About Addiction Recovery

I walked the streets of delusion
where the streetlights glow
with golden spheres of flame.

Dancing like fireflies in a glass jar,
their seductive splendor tempted me,
whispering my ego’s name.

I walked the streets of delusion
believing them to be paved
with adventure and romantic ecstasy.

Each footstep outpaced reason,
while my sole pounded values into the pavement,
And my feet stepped over morality.

I walked the streets of delusion
until life’s traffic slammed into my body,
cursing as I fell on my face.

Pride poured out of every gash,
every cut and every broken bone,
yet desire still yearned for one more taste.

I walked the streets of delusion,
or rather crawled without care of judgement –
broken, but not yet ready to accept defeat.

But suddenly stopped in horror
when I saw Death approaching
from the end of the street.

I stared down the streets of delusion,
wide-eyed and finally willing
to see the truth of where they lead.

No one is exempt
from reaping death and ruin
when they plant Destruction’s seed.

-Poem Written by Justin Farley

About the Poem

Every recovering addict remembers what it was like walking “the streets of delusion”. Inside every addict there is a point where you deceive yourself into believing that you are not addicted, that you just like to have fun, and that you’ll stop as soon as “x” happens. The elation that we feel while drunk or high is greater than the warning signs that surround us, and we turn our backs on everything that once mattered in our life for the brief comfort and feelings of power alcohol and drugs provide. The strongest and most dangerous lie that addiction tries to convince us of is that somehow we will outsmart a disease and won’t be like all the others that are on the same path we are on…that we can control it without recovery. We will somehow find a happy medium between sane and crazy, drunk and sober, addiction and recovery. Somehow we will keep ourselves and those we care about out of danger and prevent chaos in our lives, all the while brewing it wherever we go. The difference between active and non-active addiction is usually nothing more than an honest look in the mirror and having the courage to expose the lies that have led us down the path we’re on. Obviously admitting we need help is the next step, but until we get off “the streets of delusion” we will never see the truth of how desperately we need recovery and how out of control our addiction and our life has become.

If you enjoyed this poem, you may also enjoy my poem about alcoholism,“One More Taste”.

Life is in the Eye of the Beholder Poem

Life is in the Eye of the Beholder

Life is in the eye of the beholder.
It remains constant through the ages,
But changes with each person’s view.
The pixels of your life’s image
Are formed and determined by you.

The lens we choose to look through
Is the filter that determines our fate.
Blessings abound for those with humble hearts;
Misfortune for the proud awaits.

Curses and gifts are wrapped in the same packages;
Their contents are named when opened.
Curses will find those who feel entitled;
Gifts will present themselves when chosen.

Be patient in judgments.
Let the season pass before crying out your dismay.
What often begins as terrible weather
Ends as part of a beautiful day.

Trust that there’s meaning in the madness
Or mad you will become.
A glass is either half-full or half-empty,
And your happiness to bound to either one.

Life is in the eye of the beholder.
Its blessings are as numerous as the stars,
And its scars outnumber the droplets of the sea.
The choice is given in the pair of glasses
From which you decide to see.

-Poem Written by Justin Farley

About the Poem

There are events in life that are clearly tragedies and others that are clearly blessings, but most of what happens to us is determined by our expectations and our viewpoint. In my life, I’ve dealt and deal with many things that could be considered misfortunes – addiction,anxiety disorder, bipolar disorder. At the beginning of this week, my anxiety was very high, and I found myself in pity mode, asking, “Why me? Why does it have to be so hard? Why has my life been robbed by mental illness?”

The only person I could seem to find blame with was God. If God is in control, he is the one to blame. Sometimes when you’re brought so low by something outside of your control, it’s hard to trust and believe in a God of goodness and mercy. But one of the blessings of Christianity is that He knows that. There is no shame for us at times to feel abandoned and confused, for Christ himself shouted, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

But the danger is staying in that place too long and not looking at the big picture of life. The danger is turning away and not seeking council through prayer and patience. I received an answer when a thought popped into my head asking who I would be without the struggles I have had in life.

There’s no doubt that I would have more worldly success without mental illness and addiction. But when I thought about the type of person I would have become, I had to admit that I would likely be extremely arrogant, prideful, hateful, feel no need for God, and have none of the good qualities and values that I’m grateful for. I am quick to blame God for pain; yet know, as stubborn as I am, often times it’s the only way to get me to listen.

The pain in life is not enjoyable and often feels hard to bear. For me, the error lies in my assumption that I’m entitled to feel no pain. I’m entitled to have complete control over my life with no consequences. I’m entitled to have a smooth life with no struggles or battles.  The reality is that our character is formed by those hardships. The hardships are what force us to do the things we don’t want to do, but know we need to do. What we label as “misfortune” is often a blessing that stirs within us the question of “why”, calling us back towards God and off the dangerous path we’re on.

There are times too when there is no answer and our circumstance is too terrible to see anything good in it. The only thing we are called to do is to wait, be patient, and trust that God will work goodness out of darkness. Often, what seems like unbearable tragedy is looked upon as saving grace years down the road.

Goodness and blessings occur everyday, but it is up to us to find them. It’s so much easier to notice all things that are wrong with our lives instead of cherishing the abundance of blessings and goodness. Our outlook on life isn’t going to prevent us from ever going through pain, but does keep things in perspective and allows us to have joy even when we’re not happy temporarily, knowing that our joy is not bound by the ups and downs of this world.

If you enjoyed this post, you may also like my poem, “Everyday Miracles”, about finding the presence of God everyday in ordinary things.

Poem About Bipolar Disorder Manic Depression – Roller Coaster

Roller Coaster – A Poem About Bipolar Disorder / Manic Depression

 

No waiting lines.
No ticket fees.
I was born strapped in your seat.

You took me up.
You took me down.
No choice in where I was bound.

But you soared me too high.
You crashed me too low.
I fried in Hell’s fiery furnace, writhed in winter’s snow.

A thrilling ride
for a moment’s time,
but now no way to stop this racing mind.

For a moment’s time
A slow, quiet rest,
but now bleak, cold, and dead inside my chest.

No way to curb the madness.
No way to calm the fear.
No way to halt this ride and get out of here.

Corkscrews and loops.
Falls and climbs.
I spend my life riding the moods of my mind.

-Poem Written by Justin Farley

About the Poem

Anyone who has dealt with bipolar disorder knows what it’s like to feel like your life is a constant roller coaster. You click up the tracks and reach the summit, feeling on top of the world. But soon come crashing down, picking up speed and racing through tunnels, curves, and loops. It may be exciting to feel out of control for a few minutes on a ride, but when it becomes the way you describe your life, enjoyment isn’t one of the words that comes to mind.

It’s exhausting living with bipolar, not knowing which “you” is going to wake up the next day. Are you going to be racing with energy, crazy in an episode of mania? Or are you going to wake without enough energy to even get out of bed and struggle to make it through the day filled with depression? Mental illness, and specifically bipolar disorder, can make you feel like your whole life is one long roller coaster ride you can’t get off of.

If you enjoyed this post, you may also like my poem “The Clouds of Mourning”

Poem About Broken Dreams – “Dream-Weaving”

Dream-Weaving – A Poem

The seams of my dreams are unraveling –
Thread stretched out in heaps,
Ensnaring my feet, tripping me, sending me falling
Into jaded existence.
Innocence, where is my resistance to your demise?

This cloak once kept me warm in the night,
but is now tattered, holes allow the howling wind
To chill the depths of my soul.
No longer whole, but unable to pinpoint what’s been lost.
Unable to retrieve a feeling that once was.
Dreams that used to woo me with their tales
Now stir up nothing but bitterness.
They are cold like unearthed stone
And seem better left buried than dug up –
Too hard, too massive, too rigid to be molded into beauty.

I miss lofty ideals and carnival lights
With roller coaster life.
I miss uncertainty and belief in the unknown.
I miss the magic of weaving this cloak of dreams,
Of sewing seams across endless skies.
But the fire in my eyes has died.
Somewhere the flames went out, and I no longer cared.
I no longer dared to see beyond the realm of mundane reality.
And now by and by
I have betrayed my own soul.
I have yielded to the world’s cold mentality.
Beaten upon my breath in my chest until it no longer moved
And resorted to conformity.

I am left with only a ragged, dirty cloak
That use to be radiant,
That sparkled with the swirling of dreams
But they have long ceased to move me.
I yearn to fix the canvas, but don’t know where to start.
I long to believe once more in the magic of art,
But find myself a seamstress without needle and thread
To sew up these holes that life has chewed up and swallowed;
With no way to sweep out the darkness that life has let in.

-Poem written by Justin Farley

photo credit: jinterwas insomnia via photopin (license)

Poem About Modern Society Issues Today and the Wisdom of an Old Woman Dying

Even as a 30 year old man, I am already seeing the changes of modern society. While some of the changes in society are advances, many leave me questioning whether they are positive and reminiscing for “the way things used to be”. 

Friendships are based online and often more face time is in front of a screen instead of in a person’s actual presence. There’s more mental illness and unhappiness than ever before. More busyiness when technology is meant to reduce our workload. Are we really advancing or just stripping away all that makes us human and replacing it with machines? 

“The Deathbed Confession of An Old Woman”


My soul aches,

quakes with the rumble of ancient pain.

Grief abides by my side as an unwelcomed companion

and remains though the seasons change.


These bones are dry –

baked brittle beneath the sweltering heat of time

and are crumbling to dust like a ghost town,

forgotten on a once frequently followed road.


See these hands…

rough, grainy like sand, withered and old?

Written upon them, my life’s story is told.

And the story is slowly fading away –

my town buried by-and-by beneath the dirt of decay.


The way home some days seems so far away.

The paths I walked as a child

have been paved over by city blocks.

Silent stops, which I paused to ponder at beauty –

plucked like a wildflower in the country on a warm summer’s day –

now have wilted and lost their roots.

Down on the farm, the chickens no longer cluck.

Technological advances now roost in their coops.


Am I to quietly drift out

with the changing of the tide?

Paint on a clown’s smile

when inside I’m horrified?


These aren’t just the moans of an old woman

nagging against generational change.

It’s the magnitude of what’s been lost…

It’s the little we’ve gained…


The modern era has numbed you –

rocked you in the cradle to the ambience of machines

instead of your mother’s soothing voice.

They’ve sold you the lie that life has become easier,

yet you’ve neglected to weigh the cost of your choice,

and muted your ears when Chaos triumphantly rejoiced.


But Chaos, I hear you loud and clear

shouting deafeningly across the nation.

Turning children’s eyes to marvel at metal and pixelated color

instead of the beauty of God’s incomparable creation.


So, no. I won’t go quietly.

I refuse to “go gentle into that good night”.

For “old age should burn and rave at close of day”.

I will “rage, rage against the dying of the light”

until this old heart can beat no more.


You can pass my wisdom off as foolish,

once believed lore.

But long will my voice live on

in your weary heart when I’m gone,

when your screens of comfort need recharged,

and Truth rocks you restless, laying wide-awake

with tired eyes in the midnight hours of morn.


My soul aches,

quakes, but not due to my own soon-coming demise.

But because humanity has not matured in my lifetime,

rather relapsed into bratty girls and boys

who throw aside morals and values 

to play with the newest toys.


– Poem Written by Justin Farley

* Quotation taken from “Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas


photo credit: talourcera the ring of her Lord – me perteneces via photopin (license)