In this broken place where I was born
It seems there is no peace,
And the very soil that we walk upon
Is filled with tears that never cease,
And you can trace the scars of hopelessness
Like sweat upon the backs
Of all the outcast downtrodden,
Water slipped through cracks

Hold on,
Hold tight

And I am overwhelmed with grief,
to see such suffering,
For those who lack the voice to speak
For those of us left stuttering

May this not prevail,
Dear Lord, your love will never fail

And these frail hands,
They tremble as they pen perhaps their last
And these weak words,
Can never say what cannot be surpassed

When the concrete of the world
Becomes too cumbersome to lift,
And the cataracts of fear and doubt
Cloak truth beyond what we can sift
And darkness, darkness bleeds its way,
When crippling anguish clouds our sight,
The ghosts of dusk have bared their teeth,
Set their claws to bring the night

Hold on,
Hold tight

Darkness can’t perceive the light,
though lightlessness has chilled us numb,
And though its wings may cloud the skies,
The dark shall never overcome

Light of the world,
Your love, has never failed

And these frail hands,
They tremble as they pen perhaps their last
And these weak words,
Can never say what cannot be surpassed

I need your love,
And most of all I want to feel your peace,
I need your love,
Let everything that you are not decrease,

(Your love,
Your mercy,
Your light unending.
Your hope,
Your peace,
Your strength my heart is mending.)

(Daylight,
Save me)

___________________

Say what you want, but  Five Iron / Brave Saint Saturn = lyric genius.

Windows are meant to let in fresh air, let folks inside see what’s going on outside. Doors are meant to be passed through.

I have often mistaken windows for doors. I’ve thought God let me see something – hey, a door!  I should walk through.  When I’ve attempted to walk through, it’s been entirely through my own strength, wearying, and a letdown.  Things that I wasn’t ready for I tried to take on, resulting in burnout and blaming God for my mistake of jumping the gun.

I have often mistaken doors for windows.  Passed up opportunities because I didn’t believe it was meant for me, or it was difficult, or it was impossible for that pathway to be a place to go.

I’m trying to let God show me the difference between a open window and a open door, but the truth is I’ll probably keep mistaking one for the other.  Peace and grace abound, because no matter where I go, as I follow His leading nothing is wasted or in vain.

Emotional Scars Linger for Childhood Cancer Survivors

UPDATE: Health of Childhood Cancer Survivors Still at Risk

Often, in prayer or worship, I see the streets of Los Angeles being washed clean by a river flowing down, the currents of water sweeping away all the trash and dust, leaving a wake of plant life blooming.  Folks standing in their front yards laugh as the water swirls ankle-deep around their feet, washing their feet clean.

And every morning as I walk to work, stepping over puddles, trash, and gapped sidewalk, I can’t help but think that day cannot come soon enough.

Just a reminder that this video is just as funny as it was in high school:

Side note: what online video sites existed in high school?  Youtube came about in 2005.