A Poem of Waking in the Holy City by Debbie Harris

29 Saturday Aug 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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bible, Biblical Truth, Christian, Christian Poetry, christianity, faith, hope, Inpirational, Inspirational, jesus, jesus-christ, Poetry, Praise, salvation, theology, worship

A Note to the Reader

Dear Reader,

This is not a map of Heaven. Scripture has already given what we are allowed to know. I have only tried to wake inside those promises: a new body, a holy city, the ordered joy of angels, the faces of the redeemed, and Christ Himself, no longer believed at a distance but seen.

If the gold and the gates appear, they are not the treasure. They are the floor and the door. The treasure is the Lamb who died and lives again. The city needs no sun because He is its day. Faith ends not in imagination, but in sight.

I have written in the second person because the hope is not a spectacle for someone else. It is offered to the one who still walks the long night and keeps the Name. This poem is but a humble attempt to capture the exquisite beauty of Heaven! In reality, there will be no words. For the scripture tells us in 1 Corinthians 2:9 (KJV)

But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.

Read the poem slowly. Beauty is not the enemy of truth. A line may be lovely and still lead you to Jesus Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords! If the loveliness stops at itself, it has failed. If it makes Him nearer, it has done its work.

The work is His.

The rest is waiting.

—The Poet

1 Corinthians 15:51–53

Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,

In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.

For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.

Philippians 3:21

Who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body, according to the working whereby he is able even to subdue all things unto himself.

Revelation 21:4

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

Revelation 21:21

And the twelve gates were twelve pearls; every several gate was of one pearl: and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass.

Revelation 21:23

And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.

Revelation 22:1–2

And he shewed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.

In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.

Revelation 22:5

And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever.

1 Corinthians 13:12

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

2 Corinthians 5:7

(For we walk by faith, not by sight:)

1 John 3:2

Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is.

Revelation 22:4

And they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads.

John 20:27

Then saith he to Thomas, Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing.

Matthew 25:21

His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.

Hebrews 12:22–23

But ye are come unto mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels,

To the general assembly and church of the firstborn, which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect.

Revelation 5:11–12

And I beheld, and I heard the voice of many angels round about the throne and the beasts and the elders: and the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands;

Saying with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing.

Revelation 1:17–18

And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last:

I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death.

Revelation 22:13

I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.

Revelation 21:6

And he said unto me, It is done. I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.

Waking is not a startle here.

It is a slow unfurling, like a rose

that never knew a frost or fear,

the first true breath a body knows.

The lungs take light instead of air.

The heart keeps time with something vast.

No ache remains, no weight, no wear—

the old machine is overpassed.

The skin is new. It holds the day

the way still water holds the sky.

Each nerve is tuned to praise and play;

each cell remembers the design.

You stand. The standing is a song.

The floor is gold that does not glare

but drinks the brightness all along

and gives it back as living air.

A river moves with liquid glass.

Its banks are lined with trees that heal.

The leaves keep time as ages pass

and every wound they touch is sealed.

Then sound arrives—not crash, not cry,

but ordered glory, rank on rank:

the seraphim whose faces fly

with fire that never scorched or sank;

the cherubim with wheels of sight;

the thrones that hold the weight of peace;

dominions keeping day from night

so joy may never know decrease;

then virtues, powers, principalities,

archangels bright as lifted swords,

and angels countless as the seas

who speak in one accord of words.

They do not rush. They form a way.

A living aisle of wing and light.

A welcoming that does not sway

from order into mere delight.

One steps. His face is kind and keen.

He does not ask what you have done.

He only smiles, as if he’d seen

your name before the world begun.

Beyond him, faces you have loved

in stories older than your blood:

the shepherd-king whose harp once moved

the dark; the man who faced the flood;

the mother who kept every word

and pondered them against her heart;

the fisherman who saw the Lord

and left the nets to take his part.

They do not crowd. They simply are—

as real as bread, as clear as flame.

No statue’s calm, no distant star:

they know your name. They speak your name.

The city rises, gate by gate

of pearl that never learned to close.

No shadow leans. There is no late.

The light itself is what it knows.

And then the center—not a throne

of metal lifted over men,

but Jesus, known as He is known,

the Lamb who died and lives again.

You see Him. Seeing is the end

of faith that walked the long night through.

The glass is gone. The shadows bend.

The distant Hope is here and true.

The eyes that wept, the hands once torn,

the side the spear was made to find—

He wears them still, not as a scorn,

but as the mercy of His mind.

He looks at you as if the world

had waited only for this hour.

No thunder splits. No banner’s furled.

Just love that has no need of power.

He speaks, and every golden street

falls still, as if the city hears

the sentence it was built to meet,

the word that gathers all the years:

“Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

The phrase is old. The meaning new.

It settles in the bones like current.

It makes the finished work come true.

You do not bow from terror’s claim.

You kneel because the joy is deep,

because the One who knows your name

has kept the promise He would keep.

And all the ranks of heaven wait

in that bright hush after the word,

as if the universe’s weight

were lightened by what you just heard.

Then music starts again—not loud,

but full, the way a river fills

the quiet places of a cloud

and turns the high, cold air to hills.

You rise. The new body knows how.

The gold is warm beneath your feet.

What once was faith is vision now.

The far-off Lord is near, complete.

The city keeps no sun for guide,

no moon to nurse a lesser flame.

The Lamb is day on every side.

The light is Jesus. So is the Name.

The saints are walking in that light.

The angels finish what they began.

The song is doctrine burning bright:

the Word made flesh, the Son of Man.

No sun is asked to start the day.

The Lamb is light. The song is won.

The First and Last is All in All.

The work forevermore is done.

**To God be the glory always and only.

The Glory Is Not Ours to Own: Of Him, Through Him, To Him by Debbie Harris

29 Saturday Aug 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Celebratory, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, salvation, Thanksgiving

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A note from the poet

Dear reader,

This is not an account of what I made. It is an attempt to tell the truth about what I was given.

Every line that looks like skill was first a mercy: breath, light, a mind that could hold a cadence, a heart that could be taught to see the gift and not the giver last. If the poem works, that is not proof of ownership. The mountain does not lift itself. The song does not write its own hand.

I wrote it as thanksgiving—to the Father who unclasps the morning, to the Spirit who steadies a trembling line, to the Son through whom the empty cup is made enough. Whatever is weak in it is mine. Whatever is true already belonged to Him.

Read it as you would receive bread: not as a display of the baker, but as a share in a feast you did not spread.

If any word here helps you return what you hold, it has done its work.

—the poet

Romans 11:36

For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen.

— The last stanza almost speaks this verse aloud: from You, through You, unto You.

1 Corinthians 4:7

For who maketh thee to differ from another? and what hast thou that thou didst not receive? now if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory, as if thou hadst not received it?

— No vault of skill… can claim the glory that appears.

1 Chronicles 29:14

But who am I, and what is my people, that we should be able to offer so willingly after this sort? for all things come of thee, and of thine own have we given thee.

— We lift the thanksgiving we bring / and find it already given—free.

James 1:17

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.

— The opening movement: light, gift, Father of fountains, Source unspent.

From the first bright syllable of light

that split the deep and named the day,

each breath, each gift, each lifted height

is given, held, and kept Your way.

Father of fountains, Source unspent,

Your hands unclasp the morning gold;

the rivers run at Your consent,

the harvest swells because You hold.

Spirit of fire who broods and burns,

who teaches clay to sing and stand,

You kindle what the heart discerns

and steady every trembling hand.

And You, the Son, the living Word,

the Mercy walking in our dust:

through You the broken world is stirred,

through You the empty cup is just.

All strength that rises when we fall,

all talent flashing from the dark,

all bread that answers hunger’s call

comes streaming from Your wounded mark.

No vault of skill, no hoard of years,

no midnight labor, proud and lone,

can claim the glory that appears—

the glory is not ours to own.

The mountain does not lift itself;

the cedar does not praise its root;

the eagle riding thermal wealth

is borne by what it cannot compute.

So we, who once were barren ground,

now bear the fruit we did not plant;

the song that fills this gathered sound

was written by a hand we cannot grant.

You are the well, the bread, the feast,

the lamp that will not gutter out;

You are the first and final Priest

who turns our scarcity to shout.

When winters lock the field in white

and every talent seems too small,

Your sufficiency becomes our light—

enough, and more than all.

The throne is Yours, the triumph Yours,

the crown that never dims or rusts;

the praise that rolls from distant shores

returns to You because it must.

Father, Spirit, crucified King,

Triune abundance, undivided Three:

we lift the thanksgiving we bring

and find it already given—free.

All that we are, all that we hold,

all that we dare and all we do

is from You, through You, unto You:

Christ Jesus—source, and end, and All.

**To God be the glory always and only.**

You Are Held By Debbie Harris

22 Saturday Aug 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Praise, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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You Are Held

(Free Verse & Rhymed)

Dear Reader,

These two poems — one free verse, one rhymed — were written from the same quiet place: a desire to point you to Jesus Himself.

Whether the lines breathe freely or move in gentle rhythm, they carry the same truth. May you find in them a soft place to rest in His finished work, a steady light from the One who walked the cross-road for you, and the deep assurance that you are held by Christ alone.

With care,

The Poet

Free Verse

Jesus loves you deeper

than the ocean’s unmeasured floor,

far beyond the trembling strength you clutch today

or the answers that still hide in fog.

His love does not wait for sunlit mornings

or hearts already whole and shining.

It finds you in the bruised twilight,

in the long ache of doubt,

in the weather that will not clear —

the same Jesus who stretched His arms wide on the cross

and still stretches them toward you now.

When sorrow settles like heavy rain on your shoulders,

when fear floods the low places of the heart,

when the map of your days dissolves into mist —

Christ is already there,

walking the road that has not yet appeared,

nothing about your night a surprise to the One

who carried every night to Calvary.

You were never meant to shoulder

the whole dark sky alone.

Bring the questions that burn,

the grief that sits like stones in your chest,

the disappointment that tastes of ash.

Come exactly as you are —

unwashed, unfinished, still breathing —

to the open wounds of Jesus.

His blood is enough. His scarred hands are enough.

He sees every hidden page of your story:

the tears that fell in rooms no one entered,

the quiet wars fought behind closed eyes,

the fragile courage it took

simply to rise and keep walking

when the path had grown over with thorns.

And He meets every page with the same mercy

that flowed from His side.

You are not forgotten in the wilderness.

Not invisible beneath the weight of stars.

Not too shattered, too tangled,

or too far for the reach of the risen Christ.

So hold on to Him.

Take the next small step

even when the whole road vanishes into shadow.

Let Jesus meet you in this exact breath

and remind you that His presence

has never once stepped away.

You may not know what dawn will bring,

but you can trust the One

who already stands in the morning light —

the same Jesus who left the tomb empty

so that your tomorrow could be filled with Him.

You are deeply loved by Christ.

You are seen by His eyes of compassion.

You are held by His nail-scarred hands.

Even now — especially now —

His grace is the quiet current carrying you,

His love the steady lamp at your feet,

leading you, one trembling step at a time,

straight into the heart of Jesus.

Rhymed

Jesus loves you deeper still

than oceans no line can measure,

beyond the strength you try to will

or answers lost in weather.

He finds you in the bruised half-light,

when fear and doubt draw near,

the Christ who hung on Calvary’s height

still draws you close and near.

You need not bear the storm alone,

the sky that presses low.

Come as you are — to Him alone —

His wounds already know.

He sees the tears that fell unseen

in rooms the world forgot,

the quiet wars, the in-between —

and meets them with His blood.

You are not lost among the thorns,

not broken past repair.

The risen Lord who wore the crown

still walks beside you there.

So take the next step, soft and true,

though morning hides from view.

His grace, His cross, His love hold you —

and Jesus holds you too.

**To God be the glory always and only!

I Am Nothing Without Jesus by Debbie Harris

22 Saturday Aug 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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Dear Reader,

These lines were written from a quiet place of wonder — a simple heart overflowing with the beauty and nearness of Jesus. May they gently remind you, as they remind me, that every good and perfect gift flows from Him alone.

With love,

the poet

I am nothing without Jesus—

an empty cup of purest gold,

waiting until His love comes pouring,

overflowing, warm and manifold.

Without His smile the morning pales,

without His voice the song grows thin;

yet one soft word from His kind heart

turns every dusk to golden dawn within.

I am the branch the living Vine now holds,

leafed in emerald, kissed by summer rain;

His life runs sweet through every vein

and makes the barren places bloom again.

I am the child held close and safe

beneath His everlasting wing;

He walks beside me step by step,

with open arms where endless joys take wing.

I am the heart now soaring free,

beloved, radiant, fully known;

He robes me in His brightest grace

and sings His victory as my own.

So take my fears, my restless plans,

my striving that could never win;

I lay them down with happy hands—

for only in Him does life begin.

I am nothing without Jesus…

and everything because of Him.

**To God be the glory only and always.**

The Presence of God Is a Royal Symphony by Debbie Harris

19 Wednesday Aug 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Celebratory, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Praise, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving, The Light Of The World

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Dear Reader,

From the Poet—

These lines were born in quiet hours when the soul, thirsty and still, first heard the distant strains of a music not of this world. I have tried, with imperfect human words, to capture something of that royal symphony—the life-giving presence of God that does not merely visit, but resurrects; that does not merely comfort, but creates anew. May these verses serve as an open door rather than a finished chamber. Step through them gently. Listen not only with the ear, but with the heart. For the true symphony is not confined to ink and rhyme; it plays wherever His presence is welcomed, and it never ceases to give life. If even one note awakens in you a deeper hunger for that living Presence, then these pages have fulfilled their quiet purpose.

With reverence,

The Poet

In courts of light where death itself must flee,
A royal symphony begins to play;
The life-giving presence of the King Most Free
Awakens dust and turns the night to day.

Soft strings of mercy breathe upon the soul,
Like morning mist that kisses barren ground;
Each gentle note restores what time has stole,
And lifeless hearts leap up with living sound.

The brass of power proclaims a quickening word—
Dry bones arise, the withered bloom again;
While flutes of grace, like living waters heard,
Pour endless streams through every desert plain.

Celestial choirs swell in radiant throng,
Their harmonies a river pure and wide;
The presence of the Lord, so vast, so strong,
Floods every vein with life that will abide.

The harp of healing plucks the wounded deep,
Where sorrow’s thorns once choked the tender vine;
Its golden chords make broken spirits leap,
And every scar is bathed in light divine.

The drums of glory roll across the earth,
Awaking forests, seas, and silent stone;
Creation hears the music of new birth
And answers back in voices not its own.

The organ of eternity now speaks—
Vast pipes of wonder thundering above;
It lifts the lowly, strengthens all the weak,
And fills the void with everlasting love.

No measure ends, no final cadence falls;
The symphony of God forever streams.
His life-giving presence through the ages calls,
And every soul that listens lives and dreams.

O come, and lean into this royal song—
Let every breath be tuned to heaven’s fire;
For in His presence life is ever strong,
And death itself becomes a silenced lyre.

To God be the glory, always and only.

From Him, Through Him, and To Him: All Things in Christ by Debbie Harris

03 Monday Aug 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Holy Week Monday, Praise, Royally Redeemed, salvation, Thanksgiving

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Romans 11:34–36

Dear Reader,

Come and stand a moment at the edge of this great deep. Here the apostle Paul, swept upward by the Spirit, falls silent before the unsearchable mind of God. He does not explain the mystery—he worships it.

Who has known the mind of the Lord? The question rolls like thunder across the ages, echoing the ancient cry of Isaiah and the whirlwind voice that once answered Job. No counselor has sat in the councils of eternity; no creature has first given to the Giver of all things. Yet from Him every river of existence flows, through Him every star holds its appointed course, and to Him every redeemed heart returns in praise.

In Christ the veil is parted. The eternal Word who was with God and was God has stepped into our dust, bearing the unsearchable wisdom in human flesh, pouring out the gift no hand could ever repay. At the cross the circle closes: all things from the Father, through the Son, for the glory that will never fade.

Read slowly. Let the questions humble you. Let the answer lift your eyes. And when the last line falls quiet, join the everlasting Amen.

Yours in the unsearchable riches of Christ,

The Poet

“Who has known the mind of the Lord?

Or who has been his counselor?”

“Who has ever given to God,

that God should repay them?”

For from him and through him and for him are all things.

To him be the glory forever! Amen.

Who has plumbed the mind of the living Lord,

Whose thoughts outsoar the starlit cord?

Who has drawn near as counselor wise,

To counsel Him who formed the skies?

No finite voice has shaped His will,

No mortal counsel scales that hill.

Yet Christ has come, the radiant Word,

In whom the Father’s mind is heard—

The wisdom veiled through ages past

Now shining clear, unveiled at last.

Who has first given to God some claim,

That heaven should answer with gift or name?

No hand has enriched the Boundless One,

No offering bought what grace has done.

Yet Christ, the Son, in love descended,

And freely gave what never ended:

His life laid down, His blood outpoured,

The priceless gift no wealth could afford.

He paid the debt we could not meet,

And rose to make the triumph complete.

All things from Him, the Father’s source,

Through Him, the Son, in sovereign force,

For Him, the goal of time and space,

The center of mercy, the heart of grace.

The galaxies wheel at His decree,

The oceans rise and fall by His sea;

Yet greater still: the souls He claims,

The hearts He frees from death’s dark chains.

In Christ the circle finds its close—

Creation, cross, and glory’s rose.

From Him the dawn, through Him the way,

For Him the endless, unbroken day.

All glory, wisdom, power, and praise

Belong to God through endless days.

No mind can fathom, no gift repay

The depths revealed in Christ the Way.

To Father, Son, and Spirit rise

The anthem that will never die.

The City That Needs No Sun: The Lamb as Its Everlasting Light by Debbie Harris

03 Monday Aug 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving, The Light Of The World

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A Note from the Poet to the Reader

Dear reader,

The verse that first stirred these lines is brief yet inexhaustible: “The city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof” (Revelation 21:23).

In that single declaration the whole drama of redemption is gathered into one image. Light in Scripture is never mere illumination; it is joy that cannot be taken away, beauty that does not fade, knowledge that heals every mystery, and manifestation that finally reveals what grace has been making all along. And every one of these is found not in an abstract radiance but in a Person—the Lamb who was slain and is now exalted.

The joy of the redeemed is nothing other than the finished work of Jesus: chosen before the foundation of the world, loved through the long night of our rebellion, purchased with blood, washed, clothed, kept, and at last glorified. The beauty of the saints is borrowed light only; they shine as planets catch the sun. The knowledge that will one day make every dark providence plain flows from Him who is Himself the Light. And the final transformation—when the poor and stained are made clear as crystal—comes by the touch of the same Lamb who once bore our sin.

I have tried to let these truths speak in images drawn from the text itself: the clusters of Eshcol, the sleeping sapphire, the central Sun, the wand of living flame. The poem is not an argument but a prolonged gaze—an attempt to stand, even for a few stanzas, in the light that needs no other source.

May the reading of it turn your own eyes toward the same Lamb, until the day when faith becomes sight and we see Him in His own light, the King of kings and Lord of lords.

—The Poet

No sun is needed in that deathless sphere,

nor moon to borrow light from distant fire;

the Lamb alone is day perpetual there,

and all the City kindles from His light.

His glory is the firmament, the air,

the living radiance none can ever tire.

Joy is not echo of a passing mirth,

but the deep vintage of His finished love:

He chose us long before the mountains rose,

He loved us through the night we could not prove,

He bought us with the winepress of His blood,

He washed us white as snow on highest peaks,

He clothed us in the linen of His grace,

He kept us through the storm and through the flood,

and crowned us now with uncreated light.

Each thought of Him is Eshcol’s clustered gold,

a sweetness earth has never yet controlled.

Beauty is nothing when His beam is gone.

The sapphire sleeps, the pearl forgets to shine;

we are but planets round that central Sun,

reflecting splendours that are wholly His.

Withdraw the Lamb, and every glory dies;

unveil Him, and the very heavens grow pale.

We live as rays that from His fullness rise,

and if He veil Himself, our light must fail.

Knowledge, once fractured, stands forever whole.

The dark of providence is pierced and known;

what once was riddle to the pilgrim soul

lies open in the light that is His own.

No half-seen sign, no shadowed mystery—

the Lamb Himself is Teacher, Book, and Key.

All that confounded us on earth’s dim stage

is radiant now upon the endless page,

and every heart, astonished, lifts its voice

to praise the God who turned our tears to joy.

Then comes the final, glorious unveiling.

Here we were hidden, poor, and marked with sin;

there His own love, a wand of living flame,

touches the dust and draws the glory in.

One finger’s brush, and wretchedness is gone—

we stand as crystal, radiant as the sun.

The beggar rises king; the stained are pure;

the night is past, the morning shall endure.

All this proceeds from Him who once was slain,

the exalted Lamb, the centre of the train.

Whatever splendour floods the jasper throne,

whatever song the countless hosts intone,

Jesus is soul and substance of it all—

the Light, the Life, the everlasting Call.

O to be present in that purest ray,

and see the King of kings in His own day!

Will Refresh the Weary and Satisfy the Faint: A Song of Restoration from Jeremiah’s Book of Consolation” by Debbie Harris

22 Wednesday Jul 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Royally Redeemed, salvation, Thanksgiving

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Poet’s Note to the Reader

Dear Reader,

Jeremiah 31 falls in the heart of what scholars call the “Book of Consolation” (chapters 30–33). The year is roughly 587–586 BC. Jerusalem has been besieged, the temple is about to burn, and the people of Judah are being dragged into Babylonian exile. Families are torn apart, homes reduced to rubble, and hope has almost died.

In the middle of this national heartbreak, God does something astonishing: He speaks comfort directly to the exhausted. The weary soul (nephesh ‘ayephah) and the sorrowful soul (nephesh dagah) are not abstract ideas—they represent real mothers who lost children in the siege, farmers whose fields were trampled by armies, and exiles trudging in chains toward a foreign land. Into their despair the Lord declares that He Himself will satiate (fill to the full) and replenish (restore what was drained).

The poem that follows draws its imagery from this exact moment in history—the desert heat of exile, the cracked reed of a broken people, the sudden river of divine mercy, and the promised return to a land that will bloom again. May these lines become cool water for any soul, ancient or modern, that arrives here feeling faint.

With hope,

The Poet

In exile’s dust where weary pilgrims groan,

Their feet like lead, their spirits cracked and dry,

The Lord descends in mercy’s silver tone,

A living stream beneath the burning sky.

He sees the soul that faints beneath the blaze,

A drooping reed scorched by the desert’s breath,

A hollow reed that holds no note of praise,

Yet whispers still its plea for life from death.

“I will refresh the weary,” rings His word,

Like dawn’s first light on frost-encrusted boughs;

“I will replenish every soul that’s blurred,”

And turn their ashes into blooming vows.

He pours cool rivers through the fevered vein,

Sweet manna dew on lips long parched with grief;

He lifts the fallen, clothes the bare in rain,

And weaves new strength through every trembling leaf.

The faint shall drink from fountains never spent,

Their cups o’erflow with wine of endless joy;

The weary soar on eagle wings unbent,

Above the valleys where old sorrows die.

No more the hollow night, the thorn-crowned day,

No more the chains that bind the hopeful heart;

He plants green gardens where the wastelands lay,

And bids the desert burst with heaven’s art.

O burdened traveler on the flint-sharp road,

Lift high your eyes—the Healer draweth nigh!

In His embrace your heavy yoke is stowed,

And rest descends like stars from mercy’s sky.

Thus speaks the Faithful, sovereign, strong, and true:

The weary find their rest, the faint arise,

Refreshed, replenished, made forever new—

Beneath the shelter of His healing skies.

In the World but Not of It: The Friction of Faithful Obedience and the Harbor of Christ’s Peace by Debbie Harris

21 Tuesday Jul 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Royally Redeemed, salvation, Spiritual Warfare, Thanksgiving

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Dear Reader,

This poem was born in the tension every sincere follower of Christ eventually feels — the sense of moving against the current of the age. The world flows one direction; the cross pulls us another. There is real friction, real cost, and sometimes real loneliness in that obedience.

Yet in the very place of conflict, Jesus offers something the world cannot give: a deep, abiding peace that does not depend on circumstances. I wanted to paint this reality with living images — the glittering crowd, the backward pilgrim, the sparks of resistance, and the quiet flame of Christ burning within.

My prayer is that these lines will strengthen your heart to keep walking the narrow way with courage and hope. The road may be hard, but it is never walked alone. The Savior who calls you also carries you, and the peace He gives is stronger than every storm.

May you hear His voice afresh:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” (John 14:27)

Grace and strength to you on the backward path,

The Poet

Romans 12:2

And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

John 17:16

They are not of the world, even as I am not of the world.

2 Timothy 3:12

Yea, and all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution.

John 14:27

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

Matthew 7:13-14

Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat: Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.

John 16:33

These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

1 John 2:15-17

Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever.

Through velvet night the multitude advances,

A glittering flood of silk and shattered glances,

Chasing lanterns hung on mist and lies—

Broad road of self where every pleasure dies.

Yet one lone pilgrim presses contraflow,

Face lit by a cross that only saints may know.

Each step a wound, each breath a battle cry,

While heaven’s whisper thunders, “Follow, I.”

Society’s wide river, swift and loud,

Sweeps gilded barges toward the waiting shroud.

The pilgrim wades against the current’s flood,

A living scandal to the world’s false god.

The friction sparks—flames lick the pilgrim’s frame;

Derision howls like wolves that scent the slain.

Yet in the furnace of their scorn refined,

A still, small voice breathes peace the world can’t find.

For Christ, the Rock that cleaves the raging sea,

Has planted deep an anchor, firm and free.

No gale can loose the peace His wounds secured—

A crystal river where the Lamb is Lord.

Though friendships fracture like a brittle reed

And crowns of comfort tumble as they bleed,

The pilgrim lifts their eyes where thorn-crowned glory shines,

And tastes the joy no earthly chain confines.

O soul, arise and join this backward race—

The narrow path where Jesus sets the pace.

In conflict’s forge His image you shall bear,

And wear the peace that calms the tempests there.

You Can’t Plumb His Depth: A Call to Passionately Pursue the Endless Christ(An Invitation to Dive Deeper Through Grief, Loss, and Every Season of Life) by Debbie Harris

18 Saturday Jul 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Royally Redeemed, salvation, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

This poem was born from a single sentence spoken by a dear friend who has now gone on to Heaven. When I once considered chasing a PhD, she looked at me with sparkling eyes and said, “Pursue Christ—you can’t plumb His depth.”

Those words became a compass for my life. They have guided me through seasons of multiplied grief, through the slow fading of loved ones, and through nights when tears seemed the only language I had left.

In a world that often measures success by titles, achievements, and visible results, Pep’s gentle challenge still rings true: the greatest pursuit is Christ Himself. We will never reach the bottom of His love, never exhaust His comfort, never come to the end of His presence. Every sorrow, every tear, every loss becomes an invitation to go deeper still.

If you are walking through grief, through weariness, or through a season where life feels too heavy, this poem is for you. May it remind you that you are not alone, and that the depths of Christ are safe, endless, and full of grace.

Keep pursuing Him.

There is always more.

With love and shared hope,

The Poet (Debra)

Romans 11:33

O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!

Ephesians 3:18-19

May be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God.

Philippians 3:8-10

Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ, And be found in him, not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith: That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death.

Psalm 42:7

Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.

Jeremiah 29:13

And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.

Ephesians 1:17-19

That the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give unto you the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of him: The eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that ye may know what is the hope of his calling, and what the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints, And what is the exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe, according to the working of his mighty power.

Isaiah 55:9

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

2 Corinthians 4:16-18

For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.

(A Call to Passionately Pursue Christ)

“Pursue Christ,” the voice still echoes, pure and strong,

“You cannot plumb His depth—dive deeper, come along.”

Not silver shallows shimmering at dawn’s first light,

But midnight oceans roaring with unmeasured might.

Leave fragile shores where comfort draws its fragile line,

And plunge beneath the surface of the Great Divine.

Past thunderous waves of grief that crash and cry,

Through caverns deep where hidden treasures lie.

His mercy is a galaxy without an edge,

His love, a molten river no heart can fully gauge.

When losses fall like autumn leaves in golden rain,