Such deep wells

of pain and anguish

within the human soul.

Source of Living Water?

More like sludge!


and blood from wounds that ever gape.

I too would sing a song of Light and Life.

I would dance and be free –

childlike, playful.

I would have (m)others proud

of what I've been and done.

But this is not the way, it seems.

Perhaps I wallow in the muck –

a prison of my own making.

Well, if that is true, I never knew

I wove such bonds to hold me fast.

I never knew the fate I sealed

with every bolt and latch.

The doors I'd closed behind me, firmly,



were meant to set me loose:

"Never look back – forward into the new!"

And now I learn that it can never be

a way to freedom, true –

Unless I turn – return –

undo the locks and bars so firmly placed,

greet the new remembering what's been …

I peek: what darkness, pain and sorrow –

once small creatures locked away,

now filled with poisoned power lie within!

I daren't open doors and locks –

beasts grown angry at long imprisonment

would sweep me away –

I'd come unstuck!

So quickly slammed again –



safer not to ask what might be lurking

struggle on to a future of my own making …

SILLY CHILD! As if you had the power to choose

the way that you would venture on!

Life's stronger far than your resolve,

Its flow will not be dammed.

LOVE reigns;

and you will not be free until you turn –


meet and greet those lost ones –

shunned, despised, rejected ones,

foolish ones,

lonely, aching, wounded ones,

hated ones.

All those on whom your judgment passed,

sentence pronounced ("for life imprisoned"),

are judged again.

A wiser judge than you could ever be

would set them free, and MORE

it's YOU amends must make;

YOURS the crime!

Go out and meet them.

Prepare a banquet:

the lost would return.

Welcome them –

and as you do,

you'll find the Christ has slipped in too.

The loneliest, lowest, weakest

are those most dear to God

whose blood with earth untimely mingled

where the newborn child in a stable sheltered

doors firmly shut



"No room at the Inn" their song,

and you have sung it too –

(no room for Christ to be born in you).

But just as long ago their cry

could not hold back the Love

that would pour forth,

TODAY the same Christ knocks at YOUR locked door.

And if you find that,

still, you cannot make a place

where that young babe may lay its head

and rest in sweet embrace:

Love will not be stemmed –

and in the least expected place

you'll find the One who longs to set you free