You sift the wheat from the chaff,
Separate the barley from the hull,
Till all that remains is Your harvest.
You call us all to let go of the stuff, the fluff,
The unnecessary things and habits we cling to
Till all that remains is Your perfect work
Forming us to Your character
So that others can see real substance in us.
You also separate those who turn away
From those who choose to follow…
Those whose hearts are not truly committed
From those who will never look back.
These are difficult times but
The winnowing process is meant to be hard.
The winds of trouble are blowing
Through the threshing floor now…
O Lord Jesus, let me be of the substance that matters,
Not of the stuff that You are blowing away.
Tag Archive: follow
Threshing Floor
Filed Under: Poetry by Cara — Comments Off on Threshing Floor
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I can feel the season changing.
Seems God’s always rearranging,
And I wonder what new strange thing
He is doing in my life.
As I look towards tomorrow,
I am hoping I that I will grow
Moving forward as I follow
Leaving worrying and strife.
I have learned so much the hard way
When I try to do things halfway.
Still there’s really only His way,
If I want to do them right.
Can I use what I’ve been learning
To obey Him without turning
And to use what I’m discerning
To trust God without my sight?
Faith is following His guidance
As He leads me in this romance
With the loving grace that He grants
When I’m stumbling along.
As I move into the next phase
He is changing me in new ways,
Giving mercy to me always—
He reminds me I belong.
In His everlasting promise
I can take each step with calmness,
Knowing He will hold me harmless
In the refuge of His wings.
He’s my dwelling place and fortress.
I will trust in His great goodness
Through the seasons’ steady progress,
Though I don’t know what they’ll bring.
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My fingers meander over the keyboard leisurely
While my thoughts follow along…
Sometimes slowly…
Sometimes tripping over each other…
It doesn’t matter how, only that they do.
Meanwhile, my fingers keep wandering,
Wondering what will come next.
There are moments when it seems
These things just write themselves.
At other times, every word is a struggle.
Nevertheless, I write. I must write.
Occasionally it feels like
Compulsion rather than inspiration,
And I wonder why I bother doing it,
But the satisfaction in the end result
Is like a carrot on a stick,
Or a fresh baked cookie just out of the oven
Smelling sooooo… wonderful,
I can hardly wait to finish a piece
To get that taste of accomplishment.
On the other hand,
The pleasure in the process keeps me
Putting more words down on paper—
Well, at least figuratively anyway.
I like the gentle rhythm of speaking,
Because even when I say nothing out loud,
The words sound in my head
Like a speech or a song, or even…
(And here I laugh behind my hand)
…A poem!
Next project on my list:
Write a new poem,
And another,
And another…
Because I can’t “not write.�
Folding my hands and thoughts into stillness
Is very difficult for me.
So I’m content to let my fingers
Tap out random thoughts and words
For now.
Eventually they will shape themselves
Into some palatable form.
In the meantime,
I type on.
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