Unashamed

How amazing God is. I was sent this really beautiful poem, by one of my dear friends, and it is most definitely worth sharing.

The Fellowship of the Unashamed

I AM A PART of the Fellowship of the Unashamed.

The die has been cast. The decision has been made. I have stepped over the line. I won’t look back, let up, slow down, back away or be still.

My past is redeemed, my present makes sense, and my future is in God’s hands. I am finished and done with low living, sight walking, small planning, the bare minimum, smooth knees, colorless dreams, tamed visions, mundane talking, frivolous living, selfish giving, and dwarfed goals.

I no longer need preeminence, prosperity, position, promotions, applause, or popularity. I don’t have to be right, first, the best, recognized, praised, regarded, or rewarded. I now live by faith. I lean on Christ’s presence. I love with patience, live by prayer, and labor with the power of God’s grace.

My face is set. My gait is fast, my goal is heaven. My road is narrow, my way is rough, my companions are few, my Guide is reliable, and my mission is clear.

I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deluded, or delayed. I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of adversity, negotiate at the table of the enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity, or meander in the maze of mediocrity.

I won't give up, shut up, let up or slow up until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up, and spoken up for the cause of Christ.

I am a disciple of Jesus. I am a Catholic. I must go until He comes, give until I drop, speak out until all know, and work until He stops me. And when He returns for His own, He will have no difficulty recognizing me.

My banner is clear: I am a part of the Fellowship of the Unashamed.

-Adapted from the original (author unknown) by Patrick Madrid-

Isn't it amazing the ways God speaks to our hearts?! This poem...honestly...just blew me away. What a thought. So, instead of me trying to write something profound, and you trying to make sense of it....reread THAT amazing poem, and really let it soak in.

AMDG!

A Poem of Sorts

Let me begin this post by saying, I am not a poet.
I often wish I was. It could enhance the charm and depth of my stories a hundred fold. It could add suspense and mystery. It could pose as riddles and puzzles for the reader to decipher.
But you have to know how to write it, and sadly, I do not.
However, this has not stopped me from trying (unfortunately for you, dear reader).
So, without further ado, I give you a very random poem written when I was feeling rather melancholy:
(sorry for the lame name!)


The Castle Rot


Quiet days pass in these lonely halls,
And the restless maiden longs to see,
What wonders hide beyond the crumbling walls,
Of the barren castle by the sea.


Upon many empty towers hang,
The scarlet flag, the royal crest,
And the walls, from where the clear trumpets sang,
Grow worn from her footsteps of unrest.


The great rooms with floors of glass and gold,
Filled with treasures of splendour and might,
Now remain nothing but dust to behold,
And lay in shadows, devoid of light.


The tapestries each, bearing a tale,
Begin to darken and fade to grey,
With each touch of the maiden's fingers, pale,
As she wanders the halls, going her way.


The song she sings is sad and sweet,
Recalling the drums before the war,
The tears, farewells, then the marching of feet,
Of soldiers who left for distant shores.

Long years passed and when they ne'er returned,
All but she rose, to search for the lost,
And though to join them in their search, she yearned,
They gave her a task, of greatest cost.

A key of gold, to their castle, dear,

They entrusted to the maiden, fair,

T'was this same gold key, she would keep near,

Until they brought the soldiers back there.

But with the key did come a curse, dark,

Binding the maiden to her fair youth,

Never would wrinkle of age, her face mark,

Never could she leave, without the truth.

They never came home, and still, do not,

Each passing day steals a memory,

Of the maiden, young, in the Castle Rot,

Where, likely, she'll wander eternally.