Oh, Train

Lynne Hasuly

I see the train coming,
but I'm tied to the tracks...
yeah, hoping that the wheels stop
'fore they push down my back...
into the metal and into the earth...
knock me out, Lord...
...or send hungry mice;
to eat through the rope
and then all my vice...
I'm hoping for Kingdom come
'fore critical mass;
'cause the ground is 'rumbling
...an that train's a'comin fast...

Oh, for Glory, Lord.
Ready to just move on
into Your arms
and out of the flames...
burning the dross
...and shining up the gold...
Thank You, Lord
for the promise;
yeah the promise of the Glory Train...

Indecision

Lynne Hasuly

I can't tell you
what I'm doing...
In truth,
I'm not sure I want to know...
the actions of my flesh as my body's held in tow...
Can't seem to decide whether to stay or to go...
flooded by alternating streams
and dry river beds
left arid and wanting from repeated assaults...
deliver me, Lord.
Deliver me from the pull of dark angels
heading away from Passion's flood...
restore my mind quickly;
placing my feet on unshifting foundations
and uniting my will to seek Your presence.

Battle Cry

The hand
drew back the covering veil;
exposing the warrior swords
clashing with the talons of dark shadows;
The Spirit's whisper floated in the air;
bringing prayers
brought by the sons and daughters of the promise;
jew and gentile
joining together to lift up the battle cry
for the deliverance of the promise.

Lynne Hasuly

The Empty Chair

Lynne Hasuly

The chair is empty
among the rows of seats filled with people;
that chair is empty...
He was supposed to have sat there;
offering up his sacrifices of praise
in the midst
of the body of Christ...
talons snatched him
while in the grip of fear;
propelling him towards
the portal of eternity;
and now the chair is empty;
depriving the brethren
of gifts and the joy of fellowship with him;
sorrow's shadow now resides
over the space where he might have sat;
reminding the great cloud of witnesses
that death has come...
and also of the glorious promise that death has lost its' sting.

New

Lynne Hasuly

He will create a heart that's new
among the brambled mass
of past attemtps
at being "strong" apart from
embracing arms.

The stretch of His arms
loosened the grace;
given through the blood;
the river of life...
pouring over flesh to
cover the sins of the world.

This day retains the joy that came
when death turned into life...
a ressurection in our hearts
of His eternal life...

The bride of Christ we'll be that day;
shimmering in the realm of glory;
without spot or human wrinkle;
no foible to shortchange the stores of heaven.

Joy of heaven,
stuff of earth;
divine touching mortal;
glory's flame opened up the path to
heaven's portal...

Therefore Choose Life

Lynne Hasuly


Guilt repelled off
the armor provided,
designed to protect the creature of clay;
soul soil entrusted into the hands of the Lord...
choosing life...
choosing joy...
over stubborn refusal
to chew through the restraints of the enemy...
enticed by distorted desires within...
for the chewing produces
strength of spirit...
galvanizing resolve to seek clarity of perception...
choosing life...
choosing joy over the piercing familiarity of the abyss.

Potholes and Banana Peels

Lynne Hasuly

It happened. I slipped.
That besetting sin snuck into my being and
put the banana peel on my path.
I fell. It hurt.
The pothole I fell into was dark and damp.
I could feel the chill of darkness creep into my bones
and bring with it that familiar ache.
I should have known better than to play with the images;
should have known that the end would be smelling of death.
My old fascination with potholes and b-skins had
conspired with evil to bring me down low...
and actually watch the old pictures of grim windows
show me what evil would have me become.
Now I have to get myself out of my pothole.
My digging in mire has brought me to naught
but regret and a fog-walking
into the realm that I have known for so long.
I finally remember the call of the savior to
seek and to save that what was lost,
and cast my sins into the sea of the forgotten
as an outpouring of love and His grace.
"Jesus! I need you to touch me and heal me; for you
are the One whom my heart longs to reach.
Just the hem of your garment brought healing to one...
but You are near me, and speaking of grace.
My Lord and my savior,
Be near me today.

Bridging the Gap

Ezekiel 22:30"I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none."


The figure of clay stands next to the edge,
looking over at the abyss and seeing the other side of the gap...
Looking up, the Spirit moved within soul and sinew;
stirring up the faith within and speaking from deep to deep...

Hands uplifted
rising skyward to reach the hem of glory...
inward locks unfastened,
releasing scrolls and spreading balm as a drawing salve...

Prayer escaping from the depths
arises to the throne of heaven...
following the Spirit's leading to bring the needs
to the awaiting altar...

Spirit walkway grows and bridges
the chasm once supporting naught but air and warfare...
strength and beauty growing
with the blessing of obedience to the call...

Angels brought to conquer sin and darkness...
building steps to bring an end to gaping loss as
strength is brought alongside struggling clay;
raising high the banner of surpassing glory...

Gone Fishing

The sign said, "gone fishing...be back later..."
He knew what that sign meant.
Scanning the horizon for the figure of His child,
the form became visible on the nearby beach.

A tap on the shoulder startled then puzzled the creature...
His eyes communicated His guidance and tender mercies;
revealing His identity at once and propelling her down to her knees.

"Why do you go fishing in this sea, My child?
You don't need to take back the sins you have discarded into my care.
Look at me...stop cherishing those dead fish and come back to where you belong.
Let My word transform your mind.
Let go of those things that tie you to those cherished sins you imagine hiding from Me.
Confess them and leave the beach...I can handle their disposal."

The chains then fell off of the sin-fishing creature...
allowing the Light and the Way to invade the previously barricaded fortress...
She arose and allowed the savior to lead her back to the sign she had posted.

"Now take down the sign. You have to do it. I cannot, nor will I take it down for you.
I have waited for you to remove it from your door. Remove and permit fresh air to
infuse it; for I stand ready to provide the means for the stale air to leave."

She lifted her frame up on tip-toes to reach it...
The nail she had hung was high for her to reach...
...but after a few tries she found she could lift it; and took down the age-weathered sign from its' post.

"Fresh vision and healing are coming your way, child...the sign is now gone, and the wind rushes in. My heart overflows with rejoicing; for You have chosen obedience over familiar territory...
Crave not the dark, child; for the waters are murky...lined with sharp glass and poisons unseen to you...
...I am with you as always and invite you to lean on Me;
just as you are with no further adornment..."

The form of clay looked up through her tears of rejoicing;
responding in her spirit and knowing He heard...
the cries of her heart and the wounds of her spirit inflicted and stored as a tattered dog's quilt...
"Thank You, sweet Jesus, for coming to rescue me." was all she could say...

The rest of her spirit was writing her letter; completing the housekeeping started that day.
He waited a moment, then held out a hand to offer the invitation to continue with Him...

Lynne Hasuly

The Image

The square blade disappears under the cover of flesh,
hiding its' presence for only a moment
as the metal invades a hand created for service to God...

Liquid of life drips then flows from
the cover of flesh
and stains the ground with powerless sacrifice...

the wind responds
and ushers in fresh vision
to soothe the feet of clay;
the image of the retracted hand tipped to sideways
...dislodging the perverted use of an everyday object...

the blood covers the wound in an instant,
and restores the flesh to created masterpiece...

...and the blood travels to the rest of the sinews and
bone of the one travailing in an earthsuit
and longing for heaven's gate to meet her where she is...

The hand lifts her gaze to meet the eyes from Galilee...

The hand of clay meets the divine palm,
and the sand of the beach feels like a cushion
as the two have a conversation
on a redemptive walk...

Fish Bites and Frogs

My brain is a host to a school of those fish
that take the form of thoughts nipping at my soul.
They can be nasty when hungry to feed
on my insecurities and self-doubt.
The bites come out of the questioned perception
I have of my knee-jerk response to these things...
those free-floating thoughts caught harassing and hissing...

The frogs just swim by unaware of my quandry
to just let the fish feed and then move on their way...
They question the reasons I fixate on fish
and shrug off the navel that I seem to worship.

I now wonder if I should tire of swimming
with soul-nipping fish and decide to go fishing instead...
For the meat on their bones all comes from the ashes
of burnt offerings; and I'm weary from feeding the fish
when they would mercifully die out from lack of food.

I think I have a taste for a fish fry,
and take back the ground that I've given away;
I have tired of letting those fish have their feeding
and determine to send them to belly-up bay.

Ella in the Hot Seat

Ella was going to get kicked out of school. Even a fly on the wall at her house would have yearned for escape. Ella heard the words of the principal ring in her ears over and over again. It made sense, especially since her behavior was so disruptive to her classmates. She was writing a lot these days. It wasn't full of hearts and flowers. The cloak of melancholy had turned heavy once more and threatened her sanity. Reputation? It was trashed. Survival reigned over keeping up appearances that all was well. All was not well. She felt as if she were leaking life through every orifice of her spirit, soul, and body.

The days were surreal. She was aware of everything going on around her, yet wasn't often quick to respond. Noone came into her inner enclave except God himself. It seemed that God didn't know what to do with her, either. The question stood as to whether her perception was as accurate as it seemed like to her. Cracks in her armor let in just enough light to allow the questions to sneak in. The thought of her perception of reality being off-kilter was evoking an almost ambivalent shade of blue within her. If she spoke of her doubts, then the fact that her mind was in flux would be confirmed.

The psychiatrist's office had double doors that closed in opposite sides of the door jam. Liquid fear ran through her veins and chilled her. This confirmed her status among the truly whacked. How did she get here? She was in the 7th grade. There was no blame to assign her parents or to anyone else. They were attentive and loving. The mystery floated around her personna about why she cried. Panic froze her where she sat at her desk and chained her to the chair. The flood of water seemed to erupt with the intensity of a stick of dynamite.

The whispers of hope came to her even when being choked by the tears. There was going to be an end to these times of virulent intensity. It didn't seem close by; she wasn't going to be anticipating that change anytime soon. Still, she could remember the conversations of older relatives that centered around a loving Jesus and the impact that He had on their lives. She had invited Him in, but was disappointed when the guilt over her behavior continued to chew away at her hope for change. Some witness she was going to be for a loving God that gave everything to pull her fat out of the fires of hell. There were those moments that she could not see the faces of aunts and uncles talking about the Lord. Those patches of time were desolate; she felt bereft of comfort from any source offered. That spot in her spirit seemed unreachable by anyone except God. The problem was that she still felt like the same pummeled girl as before the invitation. Was there some reason why salvation just didn't "take?" Where else was there to go?

Walking on the Wire

Taking on the day
that the Lord has made,
I try to rejoice and be glad.
My brain is full of messages and replaying images
vying for my focus and cluttering my thoughts.
turning to the Lord in entreaty and faith,
it seems I am walking on the wire between faith and and anguish.
Double-minded walking...the thought pierces me and brings me low.
He is worthy to receive honor,
worthy to receive praise,
and yet I am walking on the wire between faith, trust, and white-knuckle tension.
I look beneath the wire I see in my mind
and see the grass below looming as a ravenous lion in a den-like cave...
A hand pulls my head up to focus on Jesus,
and His eyes bring me back to the knowing of grace...
to trust in His mercy
I will just have to trust Him,
and moment by moment relinquish my all.

Mental Explosion

Tossing my skeleton out of the closet,
the air rushing out is a brisk and cold wind,
removing the stench of dead flesh and old boxes, and revealing a part of
the picture previously hidden from me.
The closet looks as if something is missing,
I am jolted by the sight of my skeleton gone.
Hooks and buttons I had used to secure it fell off.
They clutter the floor at my feet.
The skeleton leaves a good portion of floor space, and the room puzzles me at first;
for moss had begun to grow on my skeleton, and had begun to
grow on all of its' parts. The bones had been hanging out loudly;testy to come out and roam;
light has entered the space and given the green light to clean and remove
the rotted garments that skeleton had worn.
New garments hang in my old closet, and beckon me with, "Come and try us on now. We have waited for you to clean out the old garments, and the bones that have darkened the room for so long. Burst the old wineskins and put on the new duds; for the Father had given His blessing to you; to restore all of what has been eaten by locusts
and give a new image for the closet to view."

Ella's Rising

She could not remember ever being any different than she was right now. Maybe that was the way it was, but maybe not. All she knew ws that she wasn't in great shape right now. She hesitated to speak or write, fearful that something she wanted to conceal would come spilling forth and betray her. The sun shone, and every corner of the environment seemed to be illuminated with bright light. In a way, the sunshine was an affront to her psyche; like salt in an open wound.


The gentle melancholy covered her now like a soft cloak, but threatened to grow heavy and make even breathing difficult. It was familiar, though not comforting. The present melancholy was bearable, and she was, to a point, comfortable with it in the sense that she could function with its presence. The heavier cloak seemed to tear into her spirit like claws; tearing her into fragments of her former self.


Memories of the years gone past flooded her mind again. The scenes of classroom tears where she would melt and be gripped by fear that kept her frozen in the chair. The desk and the chair would be wet, and yet she could not bear to move on her own. Inevitably, the bewildered teacher would either call the guidance counselor or bring her down to the counselor's office themselves. Whispers of ridicule swarmed around and inside her head to terrorize her. Classmates were often dismissive and figured that she was trying to get out of doing any work. A shield went up around her and she tried to hide within herself from the criticisms. There was nowhere else to go. Where could she be alone and just purge the sadness from her spirit? If she knew, she would certainly try to avoid making such a spectacle of herself.


Writing provided an outlet for her discomfort, but it came at a price. She had not been in a good frame of mind when she wrote the notes, and the impact they had was not good, either. She wrote a few that were red-flags for self-injury, and was called up on the carpet for them. In a way, she could understand what the problem was. However, there were those moments that she didn't know what else to do to send up the necessary smoke signals to yell out to someone that she was not going to be able to weather the tempests much longer. Her parents didn't seem to really understand that she was really lost. Their shouts of concern and the anger she felt from that concern were discouraging.


Writing was the only way she let out some of the pressure she felt inside. It also caused some problems when she wrote the contents of her soul.


These scenes had been happening in some form or another for years. When she was single, she was able to get away by herself more often and just let the inner poison drain out of her. She could hardly stand when she had been weeping for an extended time, but then there was an eerie peace that surrounded her afterwards. In a way, she had become addicted to that surreal calmness of spirit.


Married now, the days formed themselves around her husband and two children. They had needs, too. Dinners needed to be cooked, laundry needed to be done, and bills needed to be paid. The household had to be organized to promote some semblance of sanity for the family as a whole, and that in itself was enough to keep her busy. She liked her life on one level. The level that was normal and that encircled her in a realm of family and love was a work of art in progress.


The level she tried to keep hidden was the zone that was giving her grief now. She had managed to bring the kids to her mom's house for the afternoon. It was summertime, and the kids were out of school. Both grandparents and children were happy to spend some time together anyway. It worked out for her to be able to try and heal up from the latest assault.
She loved the beach when she could find some shade. It was even better if she could find a park that had a beach connected to it so that both green grass and ocean were offered. Today she had found that alcove of respite that would enable her to drain the familiar poison off so that she could try to get rid of it.


Ella had purposed in her heart to not take her own life. She wanted to live and she was going to live, and that was that. She would not give her enemy the satisfaction of taking her down for good. The tenacity that had brought her to the edge of 40 was going to have to keep working for her. It was a gift she needed intimately.


There were those times that she didn't think that she was going to make it out of another abyss. These were the times that she wrote those notes to her classmate.
These were the times that she just melted into a shell and displaced her humanity in the name of relief. It was one of these times that she found the straight pin and made a start of what could have been the beginning of the end. It never went any further in the natural, though it continued in the mental realm.


She pulled herself back to the present day and saw the trees swaying their leaves back and forth in the light wind around them both. Ella felt kissed by heaven when she felt the wind on her face, and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving to her God. He had promised never to leave her or forsake her. She took that on faith, as she could not feel that presence as she sat in her inner darkness. Right now, she just wanted to fade into oblivion. She was guilt-ridden for even thinking such foolishness, and felt also that her weakness was embarassing. She wanted to hide this from people, to keep them from knowing that she was not in her right mind. They had nothing to fear from her, as she did not hold anyone else responsible for the present or past unpleasantness. Still, there was nowhere else to go, and she felt penned in like a caged animal by the demands of her life.


Ella would be able to shift gears soon so that she could go back to her car and head toward her parents' house to pick up the kids. The real world was waiting for her, and it was a welcome change. She told herself that this inner world was not real, and that was a part of what kept her going. The real world was what was happening around her; with her family, her church, and the rest of the world as she understood it. It didn't actually make a lot of sense sometimes because it was real when the inside hurts and hauntings spilled out into becoming real. She wanted to hide. Where could she hide? There seemed to be people everywhere, and there was nowhere else to go.


She heard a car horn in the distance. She looked at her watch and saw it was already 4:30 in the afternoon. She would live another day, and continue to heal up from the cloak and its' claws. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" she thought. The verses would come to her now and whisper words of peace and hope. They were real; as real as anything that ever existed. Ella arose and headed towards the parking lot. She missed her kids, her husband, and those little chocolate truffles in the drug store that came in a black wrapper. God would be faithful, and she would rise again.