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Group XI
by Joyce Poet
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Who Knows You Better?
Who Will Speak?
There is a Trumpet
I Cried Too
Love -- Longsuffering and Free
Oh, Grace!

Who Knows You Better?

Isaiah 51:1 (KJV) Hearken to me, ye that follow after righteousness, ye that seek the LORD: look unto the rock whence ye are hewn, and to the hole of the pit whence ye are digged.

Here I am, the great I Am,
Present in the midst of the chill.
Here I am, the precious Lamb;
Ask of Me whatever you will.

Why do you worry? Why do you fret?
I am the Peacemaker and the Light;
I've paid the price and covered your debt;
I am the Word that will send them to flight.

Sing to Me of My strength and power,
For when all else fails, you know I can;
When you're weak, then it's your finest hour;
Who knows you better than the Creator of man?

Raise a banner on a mountain high
And proclaim My glory to the earth;
I am a cloud in the heat and fire in your night;
You've a new song for which to give birth.

Lift up your head and lift up your heart;
Lay all of your burdens on Me.
I'll open a door to a brand new start;
Listen. Listen while I set you free.

I breathe in you and move in your praise.
My heart beats throughout the land.
I'll honor your song and the banner you raise;
I give you the wisdom to understand.

I formed you and I make you whole.
Who knows you better than the Way?
I am your Maker, Lover of your soul;
You'll truly find Me there when you pray.

When you wake before the sun comes up,
You know it will surely rise soon.
Know this too -- I'll overflow your cup;
I am the Rock from which you were hewn.
© Joyce Pool

Who Will Speak?

Isaiah 40:1-5 "Comfort, yes, comfort My people!" Says your God. "Speak comfort to Jerusalem, and cry out to her, that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned; for she has received from the LORD's hand double for all her sins."

The voice of one crying in the wilderness: "Prepare the way of the LORD; Make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill brought low; The crooked places shall be made straight and the rough places smooth;

The glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together; for the mouth of the LORD has spoken."

Though I know His mercy
Has delivered me from death
And the grave,
That if I were truly punished,
I'd never have known the feel
Of His touch,
Or His grace,
Sometimes, it is as though
I've suffered double
For even every thought
That didn't line up with His Word,
Much less every wicked act
I have ever committed.

Yes, tell me!
Tell me that my warfare has ended!
Tell me that my iniquities are pardoned!

I've walked through so many valleys,
Afraid and alone.
I've been crushed by the mountains
That called themselves honorable.
Turning left, turning right,
Taking step after step
My path has been continuously
Always circling back to the same trials,
Like a spider's web.

Who, of you,
Has a heart that is right with Him?
You, you,
Speak to those waves that toss me
Wildly in the sea,
Those crooked paths that wind furiously
In every direction,
Only to take me back to defeat again,
And say to them:
"Be made straight,
For this is the time of God's favor.
This is the day of salvation.
This is the season for God's glory
To be revealed in those who love Him!"
© Joyce Pool


Note: Cleaning out a horn is like brushing your teeth; Itís a tedious little thing that must be done regularly. Sometimes, it can even be painful. But, in the long run, there are always regrets for not performing the task.
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I Corinthians 9:25-27 And every man that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain a corruptible crown; but we an incorruptible. I therefore so run, not as uncertainly; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air: But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection: lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway.

Oh, that I were a pianist;
I would manage to set this praise
to music, divine melody,
for there are no words
that do justice
to ďYour MajestyĒ
that burns down deep
in my soul.

Oh, that I had mastered the violin;
How those strings would cry out
ďYour HolinessĒ
when I turned the bow,
turning hearts
all across the earth
to seek Your wisdom,
Your mercy, and Your love.

Yet, my soul is satisfied,
even over-filled,
that Youíve named me a trumpet
to honor ďYour Omnipotence.Ē
Grant me, my God,
the temperance
to endure Your cleansing
so, when I sound ďYour Glory,Ē
I might, somehow, exceed
Your very simple requirements.
© Joyce Pool


John 10:28-29 I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father's hand.

I am the power behind each rainy day:
And yes, the power behind the clear.
The clouds were never there to punish you;
I've always held you dear.
Iím still near.

I felt the pain every time you fell down;
I collected each tear in My palm.
Iím saving them for you like a treasure --
Iíll turn them all to song.
Child, be strong.

You must let the carnal man fall away now;
And tell the spirit man to arise.
To follow Me is not an easy thing,
Not even for the wise.
Let it rise.

Iíve gone to prepare a special place for you.
Dear, no one can snatch you from My hand.
Give your fears to Me so I can squash them --
Scatter them with the sand;
Yes, I can.

When evil generations all pass away,
I will sit you with Me -- at My side.
Iíll give you those tears back in diamonds.
Iíll call you My sweet bride.
Just abide.

Abide in Me, so you can stand this world
And all the things it does to abase.
Worry not about the day of judgment;
My dear, Iíll plead your case.
Seek My face.
© Joyce Pool

There is a Trumpet

I Thessalonians 4:16-17 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.

Have you truly repented?
Have you given your heart to Him?
Is He the Lord of your life?
Has His Light in you grown dim?

What would you do if you heard
a trumpet sound from far away?
Would you fall down on your knees?
Would you bow down to pray?

What would you do if you heard
a trumpet blow within the wind?
Are you sure youíve a Savior
who would all your deeds defend?

Today, there is a trumpet
whose call is quite clear if youíll hear;
ďCome to Me, all you whoíve sinned.
Let your conscience not be seared.

I will wash you white as snow.
Iíll forget if you will repent.
Iíll dwell with you, where you are.Ē
Itís a sound thatís heaven sent.

Today, there is a trumpet.
Can you hear the voice of the One
who cries in the wilderness,
ďThe only Way's through the Son!Ē?

Today, there is a trumpet;
But youíve no need to be afraid;
Just fall down at the altar
where the precious Lamb was laid.
© Joyce Pool

I Cried Too

Luke 12:58-59 As you are going with your adversary to the magistrate, try hard to be reconciled to him on the way, or he may drag you off to the judge, and the judge turn you over to the officer, and the officer throw you into prison. I tell you, you will not get out until you have paid the last penny.

My nail-scarred hand still extends to you
much the way
it did that day
you weren't sure you wanted to live through.

I heard your cry, though weak, in the night.
I cried too
to see you through
when the cruelty stole your Light.

Every man has the will to choose
how they'll live
and what they'll give.
It's their choice whether to bless or bruise.

I want to turn your pain to gladness.
On the tree
that lifted Me,
lay all your burdens and your sadness.

Every man will receive his just reward.
When each dime
is paid, in time,
then all the earth will call Me "The Lord."
© Joyce Pool


To go from the constricting
grip of the grave
to the gentle embrace
of Life
has left me with a desperate need
to count my breaths,
to lengthen my strides;

Can I possibly
cover enough ground?
I donít want to miss
a fraction of a moment.

the circle
just doesnít seem to change much
from ďgoĒ to ďgoĒ
and I tire of holding
my breath
for a ďyes.Ē

If I should happen to see
with these eyes of flesh,
I want for but one thing:

the grace to sing
for joy
for this moment of life
regardless of the harsh realities
enclosed within my own personal circle.

I know not
the depths,
nor the heights
of the things He holds close
in His heart for me;

Iím certain
that were it possible
to measure the circumference
of His love,
its size would overwhelm me.
To know He loves me
enough to give me Life
is enough.

As complex
as it may all seem,
it is so simple --
I am surrounded,
within the arms
of Love.

I invite you
to come inside
and dine with Him
at the table that Heís prepared
before you as well.
His banner over me
is Love.
© Joyce Pool


ďA billion snowflakes fall
and Iíve counted them, every one.
But not one of them holds My heart,
nor did I give for them My Son.

Intricate are their details;
I formed and fashioned each one with care.
Each one of them is different somehow,
but not a single one has hair.

Iíve counted every one of yours.
I thought dark-brown was just right for you.
And those angel kisses on your nose --
Well, I painted them there too.

See the sparrows that play next door?
Those were My hands that put them there.
They donít worry about tomorrow.
They never ask Me why or where.

But Iíve taken special pains for you;
I fashioned you with love divine.
You are precious, so precious to Me.
My daughter, youíre one of a kind...

just like that snowflake falling there --
Amidst a billion, its still unique.
Suspended in time, if just for a moment,
it may seem so fragile, so weak.

But I put it there, Love, just for you,
so you would open your eyes and see:
Let My love, like a gentle snowdrift,
cover you in the likeness of Me.Ē
© Joyce Pool

Love -- Longsuffering and Free

I think that, perhaps,
the intensity of who I am
scares you.

I want to be simple,
but thatís simply
not me.

I am who God made me--
but Iím real.

I was born at 7:20 a.m.,
but not yesterday morning--
I know Iím not what you need.

Nobody knows
the dreams I dream--
not even my closest friends.

Youíre in them.
In fact,
you are them.

If I could,
Iíd change who I am
to fill your needs.

How much
do I love you?
Let me tell you:

I give up all my dreams,
knowing thereís someone,
somewhere out there,

that can give you everything
your heart desires.
And that means more to me

than my own needs.
My prayers have changed:
My only desire is to be free--

free of the desire
to have you look at me
with the same intensity

that my heart cries out
for want of you...
Sweetheart, my heart just wonít listen.

I think I should run
and hide from you --
or rather, I should hide

from me.
This is my admission
of defeat.

In humility,
I lay my heart wide open.
Maybe now,

Iím truly free.
© Joyce Pool

Oh, Grace!

So thick,
so thick, even I can't get through --

This wall protects the fragile places
in a heart broken too many times,
a spirit bruised too many times,
a soul shattered too many times.

But You, Father,
search the deep and hidden places
of my heart
and only You know how truly vulnerable
I am,
the wholeness of love
that rages below the surface
of what is,
in all actuality,
so thin that it's almost transparent.

If I can't be transparent,
how can I be loved?

I pray:
Help me.
Help me overcome
my fear of pain,
rejection and neglect
so I can be me,
whoever that is,
in all her fullness,
in all her reality,
in all her depths,
in all that free-spirited passion for life,
displaying all the colors
that lay hidden behind that wall
of faux protection.

How many times must I circle
this wall
before it crumbles,
at last,

I'm digging deep,
so deep,
and I find here
a hint of faith --
faith so small,
but just enough
to finally shout
a shout
that's been silenced
by fear,
strong arms,
and shattered hope
after shattered hope...

A cry from the deep
and hidden places--

...Oh, Grace!"

at this hour,
at this glorious moment,
I am free.
I am me.
And I am beautiful.

Thank You,
my Prince of Peace,
my Redeemer,
Healer of My Heart,
Maker of My Dreams.
© Joyce Pool

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