Selected Poetry and Writing
The Whole Terrible Beautiful Thing
This morning a cat disappeared
into tall grass, hunting grasshoppers—
the way her body became pure instinct,
pure joy, pure alive—
and somewhere else a muffler roared
through the quiet like a wound,
shattering sleep, shattering peace,
the engine's violence indifferent
to anyone trying to hold
a fragile morning together.
A dog on the beach,
salt-drunk and ecstatic,
brings back the same stick
seventeen times because
this is what love looks like—
unconditional, uncomplicated,
the tide coming in
and the stick still worth fetching.
In a basement across town
someone is shaking,
needle-sick and hollow,
chasing a high that stopped working
years ago, their veins a map
of all the ways we try to escape
what we can't bear to feel.
Christmas morning,
snow falling like a promise kept,
cinnamon rolls rising in the oven,
the house warm with butter and sugar,
fire crackling its ancient language.
The grasshopper leaps.
The cat pounces, misses, tries again.
Pacific Northwest trail, where light
filters through Douglas fir
like cathedral windows,
the air so crisp it clarifies everything,
pine scent rising from the forest floor,
your boots on soft, mossy earth,
breathing in all that green,
all that quiet,
all that proof the world
can still be holy.
While in a Midwest suburb Someone's hands
are doing terrible things
to someone else's body.
Pain is being manufactured
in rooms we don't want to know about,
cruelty breeding more cruelty,
the human capacity for darkness
bottomless as any ocean.
The dog runs, fur slicked with seawater and sunlight,
tongue lolling, completely present
in this sacred moment,
teaching us what it means
to be here, fully here,
in a world that is always
both breaking and being born.
And somewhere a parent
stands at a window,
has stood at this window
for months, for years,
waiting for a child
who will not come home,
whose absence is a presence
that fills every room,
whose face appears
in every crowd
and is never, ever there.
This is the covenant:
beauty does not erase the horror.
The horror does not diminish the beauty.
They exist together—
the muffler's roar and the cat's crouch,
the addict's desperate prayer and the dog's joy,
the torture and the tide,
the grasshopper's iridescent wings
and the blood under someone's fingernails.
We live in the tension,
in the space between
what breaks us
and what makes us believe
breaking might not be the end of everything.
The cat catches nothing,
returns to her porch, satisfied.
The dog drops the stick at tired feet,
waits, hopeful, but content.
The muffler fades into the distance.
The pain continues.
The beauty continues.
And we—
we continue,
carrying both,
holding both,
learning to live
in the terrible grace
of all of it
at once.
Beloved Broken
He didn't come for the whole ones,
the ones who had their lives
mapped out in careful lines.
He came for you—
hollow-chested at midnight,
collecting your failures
like stones in your pockets.
For you who know the weight
of unanswered prayers,
who have befriended
your own darkness.
The incarnation was God
falling toward fracture,
choosing the trajectory
of every breaking heart.
Your emptiness is not a void—
it is the exact space
love was shaped to fill.
Your scars are not flaws—
they are where the light
learns to enter.
You are not too broken.
You are broken
in precisely the way that
calls heaven
to its knees.
This is the scandal:
God's love doesn't fix you—
it indwells you,
makes a home
in your ruins, transforms your wounds
into windows.
You were never meant
to earn wholeness.
You were meant to discover
you were already
beloved
in the breaking.
THE WOMB OF SOLITUDE
The necessity of solitude. Letting go of community in order to be reborn. In the womb, you are alone, being formed and shaped into a new creation. In that space, you are completely dependent on the life force of another. It is a dark space, but it is warm. 9 months of molding and fashioning in order to come out into the light. Go into the womb of solitude without fear of the dark, you will find a warm embrace that will carry you until it’s time to enter the world anew. New eyes to see, new ears to hear, new hands to touch, new mouth to speak. Spiritual birth follows the same pattern as a physical birth, the difference is we have to choose it.
Further Clothed
Maybe God just wanted to make a tragically beautiful piece of Art. Under his artistic license, he could do or say or use whatever he wanted to. Repurposing suffering, he stirred compassion. Reshaping injustice, he beckoned a sense of justice. Sculpting equality, he satisfied the heart. Illustrating innocence, it radiated glory because it touched on redeeming truth. Physical objects drawing out invisible thoughts and feelings. Brokenness, paradoxes, and contradictions concealing a hidden harmony because ultimately He is perfect and good. Like many artists, maybe he sacrificed himself for his art in hopes of creating something beautiful and real and everlasting. The process.....Maybe he just wanted to be seen and heard and understood and experienced. He wanted his Ein Sof , his is-ness to be infused within the art, the material needing only to be a receptive bride, an opportunity for the two to become one....Did he need to make the art? not sure, maybe not, but for whatever reason maybe he was just compelled to do so.....an artist further clothed by his art and material awakened to life by the touch of his hand and the conviction of His love.
The Coal and the Flame
What happens to the coal
that stops resisting
the flame's embrace,
that ceases guarding
its dark, cold edges
and yields
to the burning?
The fire whispers:
transformation.
Not the surface spark
that dances
but never penetrates,
not the ember
that glows and fades
with each passing breath,
but the coal
that has forgotten
its former hardness,
that has learned
to burn
from the inside out.
To ignite is to inherit
the fire's nature—
its light,
its warmth,
its power
to kindle others.
To become the fire itself.
This is the mystery:
in accepting the flame's embrace
the coal discovers
it was always
meant to burn.
And the fire has a name—
Jesus, the consuming flame,
the light that calls
each hardened heart
to release its fear
of being transformed.
He is both the spark
that ignites us
and the eternal fire
in which we burn
without being destroyed,
forever becoming
more ourselves.
What becomes of the drop
What becomes of the drop
that releases its boundaries,
that stops clinging
to its small, round self
and surrenders to the current?
The river calls this becoming.
Not the shallow stream
that mimics flow
while holding to the banks,
but the deep water
that has forgotten it was ever separate.
To merge is to inherit
the river's power,
its direction,
its endless reaching toward the sea.
The drop that learns
this liquid abandonment
finds itself suddenly vast—
no longer asking where it ends
and the river begins.
But transformation
from the depths,
not painted on the surface
like oil upon water.
Those who have released
their careful edges,
who have learned
the art of dissolution,
move with such natural grace
they never speak
of their fluency.
They have become the current itself.
This is the mystery:
in losing the boundary
the drop discovers
it was always the ocean.
And the river has a name—
Christ, the living water,
the current that calls
each trembling drop
to release its fear of cessation.
He is both the path
and the destination,
the flow that receives
our small surrendering
and the vast embrace
that was always
our true home.
They Call it the Dark Night
God goes underground.
Prayer becomes archaeology—
digging through layers of silence
for any shard of the sacred.
My soul, that eager student,
fails every test of faith.
The answers I memorized
dissolve like colored chalk in the rain.
This is the curriculum of emptiness:
Learning to breathe underwater.
Learning to see with your hands.
Learning that "lost" is just another word
for "being found by something larger."
Like a tree in winter,
every leaf of consolation falls.
Bare branches reach toward heaven
with nothing to offer but their need.
I become fluent in the language of absence:
the grammar of yearning,
the syntax of almost,
the punctuation of sighs.
But listen Soul—
even black holes have gravity.
Even winter feeds the roots.
Even this nothing that devours everything
leaves behind a strange fullness,
dense as collapsed stars.
The ancients call it "luminous darkness."
I call it Tuesday at 3 AM
when I finally stop fighting
the love that ambushes
through abandonment.
God was never missing.
God was closer than close—
so close I mistook the presence
for my own breath,
my own heartbeat,
my own stubborn refusal
to disappear completely
into what I've always been
but was too busy seeking
to notice.
A Child is Born…
Yawn…I'm tired, these eyes are heavy and this mind is slow now
weathered by storms, scorched by hot summer days
lying awake on the pillow, but fast asleep in the heart
Beauty keeps the mind alert and out of a coma, beauty stirs the tired soul, but is beauty enough?
Will beauty keep tired bones moving?
Maybe not.
Maybe only birth can do that.
A child is born, a new day begins….there was a death in the night though.
When you come to the end of yourself, two choices arise: to die or to live…that is for another, through another.
The grandparent is longing, "if I can just stay alive one more day..."
the parent is dying….A child is born.
Stretch….I open my eyes and see everything new again.
A child is born, this life shall continue on...
You Move, I MOVE
A life emptied for God can experience the guidance of His hand and the movement of His spirit. The emptying comes after seeing myself as I truly am; frail, impure, and insignificant. Once you see yourself clearly, you want nothing more than to let your Self go. A complete abandoning becomes the gateway to freedom. The greatest thing I can do with my life is to make it available for God’s desires for this world. My value is not found in anything I am or anything I do or have done, but it comes when I allow His goodness and love to enter into me. It starts with acknowledging that God can do immeasurable and insurmountable things through me if I only make room for Him to do so. I empty, He fills, and then He moves through me. It starts with a prayer, asking Him to completely take over everything that He has made in the first place; mind, body, soul, and strength. “This body is your’s Lord to be a carrier of your Spirit, please make this true in my life.” As a father places his child on his shoulders, the Father does the moving and the child enjoys the journey without any effort. The child surrenders himself over to the care and effort of his father. I can live this life on the shoulder’s of God, all I have to do is to ask Him to carry me and cease moving in my own strength. I let go of trying to make things happen for myself and instead let Him orchestrate everything around me. When He carries me on His shoulder’s, I will always end up at the best destination full of goodness and with Him. If He is perfectly good, and His essence is perfect love, then His Spirit guiding and moving my life can only end in all the best things for me. I’ll come to realize that the greatest of these things was witnessing God move in and through my life; it was experiencing the consummation of His Spirit within me. I may not know or understand all the twists and turns that He might take with me, but I can completely trust that He is in control of the entire journey along with my welfare. Trust is our lifeblood in this world and is the currency of heaven. In the kingdom of heaven, a person’s greatness is not measured in his accomplishments or even his character, but in the amount of trust He has in God’s goodness and perfect control of his life while he was in the world. It is the trusting that God uses to accomplish great things through us and it is the trusting that allows God to develop His character in us. A daily emptying of my own accord and then filling myself up with trust. Trust opens the door for His hand to restructure our personhood into His image, believing without doubt that He can and will do so. A heart full of trust in God while in this world is pure gold in the world to come. Trust floats up like incense, filling God’s air with the most beautiful fragrance. Trust in God is seen as peace in the countenance of the one trusting.
GOING IN TO NOT COME OUT
Take me deeper into yourself until I can't find my way out.
Engulfed in you, I won't be able to leave, I won’t want to.
Your surrounding presence will become my presence, and I will become a part of you and you a part of me.
The kingdom of heaven is found inside of you.
Your light will dissolve my darkness, I'll be left standing, so clean, so pure, so in love.
GREEDY FOR YOUR LOVE
I'm greedy for Your love, Lord.
A Robin Hood stealing from the rich to give to the poor.
Fill me with your treasure that I may have something to give.
Let your pure love fill my heart and flow out of me that the beggar might meet the Baker and
have his fill.
I'm greedy for Your love, Lord. Give it all to me.
Divine desire, desire divine
She pulls at me, no wait, she slowly sneaks up and draws me into herself.
One drink of her touch, she says, will fill your well with bliss, quenching boredom, loneliness.
One drink of herself leads to another and another and then just one more. An audible ahhh…
and then slowly, a wave builds…. swirling, somersaulting, looking around to see which way is up. An audible gasp…
dizzy, ungrounded, small strokes to make it back to shore.
Firm ground at last, an audible sigh…. never again I say.
She pulls at me, no wait, she slowly sneaks up and draws me into herself.
One drink of her touch, she says, will fill your well with bliss, quenching the boredom, loneliness.
One drink of herself leads to another and another and then just one more. An audible ahhh…
and then slowly, the wave builds…. swirling, somersaulting, looking around to see which way is up. An audible gasp…
dizzy, ungrounded, small strokes to make it back to shore.
Firm ground at last, an audible sigh…never again I say.
She pulls at me, no wait, she slowly sneaks up and draws me into herself.
One drink of her touch, she says, will fill your well with bliss, quenching the boredom, loneliness.
One drink of herself leads to another and another and then just one more. An audible ahhh…
and then slowly, the wave builds…. swirling, somersaulting, looking around to see which way is up. An audible gasp…
dizzy, ungrounded, small strokes to make it back to shore.
Firm ground at last, an audible sigh… never again I say.
STOP.
Where did she go? I’m not thirsty anymore. Love has swallowed my thirst.
FISHER
Make me a fisher of men…pulling them into you.
Bringing them out of the dark abyss and bringing them into the light of day. Removing them from the aerated deep, letting them breathe a new sort of air.
Make me a fisher of men…pulling them into you.
Bringing them out of the brackish Brine and placing them on a solid rock. Removing them from the frigid seas, letting them feel the sun’s embrace.
Make me a fisher of men…pulling them into you.
I wait
tick-tock goes the clock, an hour goes by and still only silence besides the tick-tock of the clock.
churp-churp goes the birds, a day goes by and still only silence besides the churp-churp of the birds.
cling-clang goes the church bells, a week goes by and still only silence besides the cling-clang of the church bells.
plink-plank goes the rain, a season goes by and still only silence besides the plink-plank of the rain.
pop-fizz goes the champagne bottle, a year goes by and still only silence besides the pop-fizz of the champpagne bottle.
drip-drop goes the tears, a life goes by and still only silence besides the drip-drop of the tears.
(published 2006. Greensprings Publishing)
The Slave and the Master
Where is my prison, so I may be free?
The freedom you've given is only a prison to me.
A master in life, yet a slave to myself.
Where is my yoke, so I may know the way?
The boundless world you've given has only led me astray.
A master in life, yet a slave to myself.
Where is my cross, so I may save my soul?
The years that you've given are taking their toll.
A slave to you, yet a master to myself.
(published 2006. Greensprings Publishing)
You Are...
You are the bread of life,
the Husband, the Father, the Friend.
A Shepherd for the wandering sheep.
A Word that has no end.
You are the lamp unto our feet,
the Vinedresser and the Vine.
A narrow door for the restless soul,
A light that will always shine.
You are the living water,
the Fortress, the Refuge, the Rock.
An innocent lamb for the criminal,
A lion with the power to unlock.
You are the Mother Hen,
the Judge, the Ruler, the King.
A Potter working tirelessly,
A Love that makes our soul sing.
You are the only true Portion,
the Fill fading all else away.
When you become our all and all,
Our darkest night breaks forth into day.
(November 2014)
The Lion
I'm going to let it all go.
As the lion does in his jungle.
He has no worries, he has no pain,
He let peace in and it promised to remain.
Fear does not taunt him,
Death has no sting.
Lust cannot tempt him,
Grace, his offering.
(2006)
You Touched me with Your Love
You touched me with your love,
and my heart didn't know what to do.
It cried, "Why am I still in this body,
when all I want is You?"
You took away my life,
and my mind didn't know why.
It searched to find the reason,
But Reason politely denied.
You filled me with your light,
And I haven't been the same.
My winter turned to spring,
The dark, no longer my shame.
You embraced my restless soul,
a wild stallion turned to mare.
the gates were all torn down,
Only freedom left to bare.
(2005)
Too Much
Too Much made the world,
Too Much freed the man,
Too Much gave his all,
Too Much takes my hand.
Let Christ Out
Let Christ Out, this stirring shouts.
He is trapped in the prison of your heredity,
Desperate to escape, desiring to take the iron bars with Him.
Let Him take you on His escapade by letting go of yours.
Yours, leading to a wrinkled wasteland,
His, to an ocean of infancy.
Let Christ Out
Don't be afraid of the Great Escape.
Knock down your stony staged walls and
make way for the Stone of Ages
For when He rolls out
the audience will shout
because He is the One they have been waiting for.
Let Christ Out
Fear not the dawn trying to break forth from the night of your soul.
For a moon is only lit by the presence of the sun.
Let Christ Out.
(2013)
A Breath of Fresh Air
Let the flames of Your Love burn up the dried out flesh of this body and flesh of this world.
Leaving only an aromatic scent of unscathed innocence.
A breath of fresh air rising up toward the lungs of the Lender.
(2013)
Obituary
Call the mortuary, hail a hearse, look out, for a funeral procession is on the horizon.
A woman is dying as this pen bleeds out life!
Gasp, silence, flatline...Death!
The Obituary reads: Selfish, prideful, wounded woman burned to death by flames of Life. Her dying words were reported as; “Let this flesh be unrecognizable after the All Consuming Fire is finished with me" and with a surrendered smile she stated, " I wish this death upon everyone”. She is survived by Mother Heartache, Father Sorrow, Sister Pain, and Child Regret. She is now a living, eternal memory.
Peace be with her soul.
(March 2014)
Fear of Your Glory
When Your light breaks through the fog of my soul, I tremble in fright and hide my weak eyes.
And my soul asks, “Why do I fear Your Glory?”
A paradox, a tug-of-war of wanting all of Your light to consume me, yet running away from a microscopic beam of it.
And my soul asks, “Why do I fear Your Glory?”
You are the finest chocolate that everyone craves; yet when given the privilege of a taste, I push You away, for it hurts because You are too rich.
And my soul asks, “Why do I fear Your Glory?”
Then Your Glory chimes in, “Because only I can endure my Glory, for the finite cannot ingest the infinite.”
Then my soul pleads, “then how will I ever know You, if I can’t even contain a glimpse of You?”
Then, with pleasure, Glory responds, “No one puts new wine into old wineskins. For the old skins would burst from the pressure, spilling the wine and ruining the skins. New wine is stored in new wineskins so that both are preserved.”
Glory goes on to say, “I am the New Wine, you fear me because I would destroy you in the state that you are in. I want only to give you my joy and delight, but I must make you a new wineskin made of myself and for eternity you will stretch with me. As we slowly age together, the intoxicating fullness of my Glory will be made known to you.”
And my soul asks, "Who am I to hold the fullness of Your Glory?"
(March 2014)
Absence, Presence
His absence filled the world,
His presence fills my heart,
From His heart,
He chose to depart,
The world's greatest piece of art.
(April 2014)
Chiaroscuro
You've primed the canvas and painted it black.
Layer upon layer the black has been stacked.
Light out of darkness, so keep painting your lines,
Love deepened by pain,
Chiaroscuro, a brighter light made to shine.
A masterpiece your working on,
So, keep working on and on and on.
This canvas can take the pressure and pain,
But it begs of you, let not the shadows be in vain.
Deep down it can feel your warm, orange hue,
with each stroke of black,
it knows it's being made new.
So, this canvas rests on Your easel,
and accepts your cool blues,
because it knows the only One that can bring light out of darkness is You.
(May 2014)
Nostalgia
There's a smoke in the air, two shots to my heart,
Two white doves fly as I fall apart.
In a cloud of smoke, I stand free,
From all pain, shame and adversity.
My heart flips flops like a fish breathing air,
My eyes look up as I collapse on his chair.
Seeing through this nightmarish-dream,
I yell, "wake up!" It's time to drink from the living stream.
Shake my head to the left, shake it then to the right.
The body stuck in darkness when it can see the light.
Letting go, while holding on.
Arriving, approaching while finally gone.
I feared so much the bullet’s sting,
But longed for the peace that it would bring.
I knew this day was coming soon,
I saw the sun behind the moon.
I let go now to this world I once loved,
Although it’s no comparison to the one above.
Nostalgia sets in as I say my goodbyes,
He wipes my tears, and says you’ll no longer cry.
Cut the anchor, cast the sail,
A soul finally escapes thanks to two weathered nails.
I look back now with a pang of regret,
I should have given His love to all that I met.
What held me back, what kept it inside?
This soul pleads with yours, don’t let His love hide.
(June 2014)
The Ascent
They've packed their bags, and set their clock right.
With ticket in hand, and mind on their flight.
For a special day is about to unfold.
Another journey to make and memory to hold.
There's a buzz in the air and a bustle on the ground,
As they walk through the gates that are all heaven bound.
With a place to be and a person to embrace,
Once again a living picture of Your amazing grace.
(November 2014)
One Taste, One Taste
You have burned the taste buds of my life
by the fire of your love,
leaving only one untouched.
One Taste of you leaves me quiet and still with somber joy,
wanting nothing more, needing nothing else.
I am in this world, but not of it
because You have unveiled my soul to your truth and your love.
You have absorbed me into your light and warmth, where else would I want to be?
You are making me one with you.
You are leading me into still waters and allowing me to drink from your living stream.
You welcome me into your home, while making a home within me.
My God, My Father,
I wait only for you now, desiring only to be with you.
The snake skin sheds off when enveloped by your beauty,
let me be as close as I can to it that I may be made beautiful like you,
from the inside out.
My heart is broken, and you say that you love a broken heart,
maybe because it breaks your heart as well.
A mystery; in the midst of two broken hearts there is deeper and truer communion.
You speak in the silence of my spirit,
there is no other voice I want to hear.
So, animate this vessel now Lord because you are the only wind in its sails.
(November 2014)
The Battle Field
Combating the darkness while holding your rope,
clinging to promises that are my only hope.
the war is raging, the horses run full speed,
each day another battle, for your command I pay all heed.
Although I raise the northern flag, the south is pleading her case,
I'm marching in her dreary land, as she's begging me to take her pace.
You point to the mountain where your kingdom will reside,
and you whisper, "I'm the King of Kings, whom forever you'll sit beside.
Fear not the enemy standing at your tent door,
for I threw him in the lake of fire the day the veil was tore.
So, now keep in step with my beat, and use me as your shield,
because I already won the victory and reign over every battle field."
(December 2014)
Tear Through the Sheep Skin
This lion's been caged in sheep's skin long enough,
She is clawing her way through the leather.
Hot steam pours out of her nostrils
As her heart fills with blood.
Her growl begins to quake,
Warning all those who have tried to keep her in captivity.
Not any more she roars! Throw down your whips, run with the fear I've now placed on you.
She tears open the skin of the tortured lamb.
Her passion burns up the wool as she thrashes her way out.
She has been released, freedom and authority the only skin she wears now.
She has been set ablaze by the all consuming love of the one true King.
She is ready to devour the darkness and maul the wicked.
the ones who have chained other lions in sheep skin.
She will tear open their hide and set them free from their captivity.
A lion set free, no on shall ever rule again.
(December 2014)
Freedom Throws Fists...
Freedom is steam, it's gasoline.
It's a bulldozer crushing frail foundations.
Freedom is power, it's a iron tower.
It's a tornado hurling everything in its way.
Freedom is a hurricane, it's a freight train.
It's dynamite demolishing the faces of mountains.
Freedom is a flame, it's a beast untamed.
It's combustion with no intention to refrain.
Freedom throws fists.
He is a slave crowned King.
She is an old woman returning to the womb.
(December 2014)
Transferring the Title
There comes a time when you must sell.
When the most valuable thing you posses is the thing that will get you through.
So, here You go, I'm selling the rights to my land.
The title now belongs to You.
Build what you want, bring whom you will.
Knock down any fences, cut down any trees.
There are many thorn bushes and a handful of weeds,
I'm sorry about that, do what you need.
You may want to build many houses, possibly some stores, maybe a farm.
You could build a park or school or better yet, a beautiful castle full of charm.
Or How about a refinery or a mass producing factory.
Ah, but wait, the choice is now Yours, I no longer have a say.
For you are the landowner now, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I've seen what you've done with other land you've acquired.
Develop this land into what you want, build the dream you've always desired.
(December 2014)
The Joy is in the Waiting....
The Joy is in the waiting...
The Hope in the not knowing...
In the silence you fill me with the music of your life...
The Joy is in the waiting...
The Hope in the not knowing...
Every moment of the day, I keep my eyes only on You..
The Joy is in the waiting...
The Hope in the not knowing...
Emptied of all desire so you can give us Yours...
The Joy is in the waiting...
The Hope in the not knowing...
In the waiting, we are satisfied..
In the waiting, we have peace..
In the waiting, you give us everything..
There is power in the waiting, still a mystery to me...
There is Pain in the Poetry
There is pain in the poetry.
Beauty deepened by the shards.
Take it! collect your love through the sacrifice.
Make the long journey or just stand still.
There is pain in the poetry.
Beauty deepened by the shards.
Board the ship that's heading towards devouring seas.
go ahead and steal her power.
Take it! collect the storm for freedom's sake.
There is pain in the poetry.
Beauty deepened by the shards.
Masterpiece
We can become God's masterpiece if we allow Him to work on us.
But mind you, He will use everything and anything to chisel you to perfection.
Your spouse might be one chisel, an intense friendship another, that tragic loss another, that heartache,
that let down, that illness, that move, that divorce, that natural disaster, that death.
A constant removal to get to the truth of who you are.
There is pain in the chiseling, why it has to be that way is beyond me, but it's the chiseling that uncovers the statue of David within you.
Your requirement; to let go,
let go of everything so that he might have full access to the world around you so that He might make you into the most beautiful thing he can,
by using every tool in sight. We are tools that God can use for one another, and He does. An interwoven web.
The peace comes when we accept that, I've realized.
The more you surrender your rights to Him, the more He can perfect you; the more He can hopefully use you.