Catch me

Picture an old fashioned carousel.   See the horses spinning in a circle - endlessly.

Hear the music galloping along with a vengeance.  See the mirror in the middle of the carousel reflecting back the chaos of the ride.  A carousel isn't always fun, and this cry came from my heart.

"Catch me God,” I cry.

"Stop this carousel I’m on." 

The days and the seasons, stampeding, go by.

Dark pains and dark pleasures around me, they fly,

 

and I cry,

“Catch me please God – before I die.”

 

“Catch me God,” I cry,

as the black in my heart edges in.

My life and my actions increasingly gray -

the good and the perfect are further away,

 

and I cry

“Catch me please God – before I die.”

 

“Catch me God,” I cry.

The carousel mirror shows truth to me.

It shows me a life full of sin beyond measure -

a self-centered life hurting those I should treasure

 

Oh how I cry,

“Catch me please God – before I die.”

 

And then, the carousel is still.

My world has crashed.

I’ve lost the will

to run,

and running, then to hide,

since the mirror has shown me what’s inside.

When I saw and confessed the guilt 

to my Lord, 

He softened the pain, 

and I heard Him explain

that 

playing the game of catch-if-you-can

is something that He would not do.

I had to stop playing,

reach out,  

take God’s hand.

and follow His heart - then I knew.

 

He was there all the time seeing my plight. 

He answered each time I prayed in the night.

He hurt when I hurt and He said when I cried,

 

“I caught you my child, --

on the day my Son died.”

Dear friend, if you are playing that game - please know that life can get better.  It did for me, many years ago when I surrendered my heart to my Father, the God of the universe.

They need your help

 

Dear ones, You may find this poem a little difficult, but there are times when we do feel like the tiny birds who just cry out to God for strength and help - knowing all the while that God cares about each trouble that we face.

When the tiny birds aren’t ready,  fierce winds dry out the sky, and forests burn with angry fire

Who will help the babes to fly?

When peace and safety leave them, and they find no place to lie,

When your children aren’t ready

Who will help the babes to fly?

When the worries circle round them, and ever multiply,

When the way becomes uncertain.

Who will help them asking why?

They cry out!

“Oh God who made us, help us! 

Creator, please come nigh!

You see our plight. You see our turmoil!

You hear us when we cry.

You see us when we struggle, just barely getting by.

You know our heart’s condition.

You hear us asking, why?”

I pray, Dear Father. Help them.

Let your heavenly power surround them.

With wide strong wings lift them high.

Above the winds and trials and troubles,

where thoughts become a web of worries,

God in heaven hear their cry.

God, Oh, Father, help your children, 

when you hear their frightened cry.

Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.  Psalm 63:7 (NIV)