to purify the heart's bitter ashes

While I'm at it...I wrote this my sophomore year at BYU for Dr. Ludlow's Isaiah class. Writing it led to some important events in my life. It's based on chapter 53. No I will not fix the capitalization and punctuation. :)

His birth? Not a surprise
His coming not a mystery
For they
They the prophets
have uttered
The promise
Of a Savior.
It may as well
Have been a whisper,
For those who should receive
Would not believe.
He came,
The promised Savior,
Who grew up in the desert,
Who was cultivated
by the word
And nurtured by the example
Of his perfect Father;
Cherished raised taught
by his lovely mother
in the land
barren of truth -
The truth he'd learn,
The truth necessary
to teach the world
And to show the Father's way.
His smile wasn't dazzling.
He didn't command respect.
The people didn't notice
When he shopped at market
Or sold Joseph's works
Or walked the streets of Nazareth.
But he noticed us,
the people all around.
He recognized
Lamenting eyes
He healed
The Sightless
Comforted
The Friendless
Sheltered
The Cold
With a soothing touch
And an affirmation
Of the soul's completion.
We were writhing
Without effect
In the clutches of the
Irreprehensible
law of justice
and condemned
to the cause of death,
the keys to our safety
long melted,
fused unusable,
Hope dripping,
Escaping through the pores
Of the concrete
prison
walls
which
ensured
our
captivity.
Walls which could never be broken
Except by a God
Who is broken bruised torn
Laid to rest
By the grievances
Toward his Father
Which He did not perform.
Compelled not by any force,
He submitted himself
As the necessary
unblemished gift.
A decision
Dictated
By love
For the creation-children
Of His Father.
Descended below all
That he may lift above
Experienced perfect deficiency
That we may become whole
Loved every sinner
That each may become clean
Adopted every insult
Against eternity
That its aching
Might be consoled.
The griefs we bear
The sorrows we carry
Disappointment
That
Hurts more than a burn,
Burns more than a torch.
The torch makes wounds aware;
Exposing
Emptiness,
Opening
aged scars.
Healing is ours
Rich sweet beautiful
Melting running flowing
To enclose
Each pain;
To swathe
Each craving
For fullness;
To purify
The heart's bitter ashes.
Healing is ours
pacifying, replacing every pain.
And so
As He outstretched his hand,
His healing hand,
To renovate
A shattered
Tabernacle of clay,
He offers his hand
Now
An immediate offering
To steal away
The tears
That corrupt our mortal eyes.
An offering motivated
Only by the possibility
That he
May hold me
May hold you
May hold every being
In his arms
Past the regulatory bar
And the threshold of the throne.
Forever united
As mutual victors
Over the enemies
That once had threatened
To scream against
The peaceful silence
Of forever love
And Eternal repose.

November 20, 2003