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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Singing (10/31/05)

TITLE: How Much Louder?
By Joyce Poet


If you close your ears and listen with your heart,
you just might hear me singing,
‘Eve Shouldn’t be Left Alone in the Garden.’
Lay your palm upon my chest. You will find a perfect harmony,
wordless and without rhyme, but with impeccable rhythm
and perfectly in tune, my heart panting for you.

The sound of silence is deafening.
He’s not silent though. And I know He hears me crying
for love lost and Love found and a love I may never know.
He knows I’ve a hunger that won’t let me rest
as well as a hunger that guarantees fulfillment.
I’ve tried choosing between the two.
Found out it wasn’t necessary or even possible.

A deer pants for the waters.
My soul longs for the Lord.
A deer also searches for green pasture
and shade on a too-sunny day.
One doesn’t have a whole lot to do with the other.
But I have definitely come to a point
where I most want Him alone to be my heart’s desire.

I don’t want to hunger anymore
for a feast that will never satisfy my soul.
So I take my fingers out of my self-absorbed ears
and listen to the songs of One who does sing
and promises that my own songs are His harmonies,
‘The Blind Receive Sight,’
‘The Lame Walk,’

‘Those Who Have Leprosy are Cured,’
‘The Deaf Hear,’
‘The Dead are Raised,’
and ‘The Good News is Being Preached to the Poor.’
He hears.
I know He hears.
And His plans, His song, His heart,

they are all so much greater than my own.
“Bless me! Bless me! Bless me!” I keep crying.
“Give me the desires of my heart!”
I want the answers that I want.
Isn’t that the way of man?
But what I hear is ‘The Good News IS Being Preached...’

“...with or without you”
and I weep.
I weep for a feast on the Bread of Life,
for a drink from blood spilled for me,
for the song deepest in my heart to rise from the dead,
brought to life again by the breath of God,
a song that exists

with or without you.
Sooner or later,
I’m going to get this leaning thing,
this casting my cares thing,
down pat. And when I do,
I’m going to reel in a promise or two
that weigh much more than you.

Nobody wants my head on a silver platter,
served with spices and oil,
just because I call a sin "a sin."
But I offer my own self, a living sacrifice,
to the King of Kings
and mix the spices and oil in preparation
to go out from here and do His will,

anointing the Body of Christ,
fully expecting Him to roll away stones.
That doesn't mean my dreams have changed,
my love, my love that isn't even mine,
at least not today. Maybe tomorrow
you'll go with me.
Maybe you'll hold my hand along the way.

For now, just be still, while I attempt,
one more time,
to let you swim back out to sea,
as though you were ever in my boat in the first place.
“Jesus! Jesus! Is that You?
Tell me to walk out there to You!”
“I know You are the One who was to come!”

Doesn’t matter the storm.
Doesn’t matter the prison.
All that matters is that He IS.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,
even if it means letting go of a song based on a dream
that I’m not even sure who inspired.
Swim away. Swim away. Or stay.

But whatever you do, let these chains be loosed
and let me find my anchor
in Christ alone.
I want to be a living example of Psalm 34:
“The righteous cry out,
and the Lord hears them;
He delivers them from all their troubles.

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
A righteous man may have many troubles,
but the LORD delivers him from them all;”
How much louder shall I cry, Lord?
Please be near to me.
Show me how to lean fully on You.

Help me to find my place
in the scheme of things.
Help me stay in tune with You,
a harmony for Your melody.
Oh, Jesus. I love You so much.
It still hurts. I still want.
Help me seek You so I’ll want for no good thing.
© 2005

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Member Comments
Member Date
Sherry Castelluccio 11/08/05
Such honest, open heartfelt words. Very inspiring.
Linda Watson Owen11/13/05
I agree. You've put your heart in this worthy poem!
Sylvia L. Green01/12/06
This is a very beautiful and touching poem.