The Torn Curtain of the Holy of Holies: Christ’s Death and Our Unhindered Approach to God by Debbie Harris

05 Thursday Mar 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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

When Jesus breathed His final, anguished cry,
The darkened sky grew black as judgment fell;
The earth convulsed, the rocks themselves did sigh,
And in the temple tore the ancient veil.

No mortal arm could rend that woven sea—
Sixty cubits high, a tapestry of heaven’s hue,
Thick as a palm, embroidered mystery,
Blue, purple, scarlet—colors God once drew.

From summit down the fracture ran divine,
Not man’s endeavor climbing from below;
God’s finger split the barrier’s sacred line,
And flung the gates of glory open wide and low.

Through countless years the curtain stood apart,
Guarding the mercy-seat where Presence burned;
One priest alone, with trembling, contrite heart,
Might pass with blood—lest holiness be spurned.

Yet now the Lamb, in agony arrayed,
Has offered once for all His riven side;
His flesh the curtain, in the garden frayed,
His blood the crimson road where sinners ride.

The veil is gone; no shadow lingers there.
No priestly rite, no altar smoke ascends.
We stand before the throne in answered prayer,
Beloved children, welcomed as dear friends.

O child of grace, why do you tarry still
Beyond the threshold, where the shadows play?
The price was paid on Calvary’s dread hill—
His wounds unclose the door for you today.

Enter, beloved, with boldness unafraid;
The Father waits with arms of endless love.
The veil is torn, the distance has been laid
To rest forever in the heart above.

Draw near, draw near—the ancient call resounds
Through time and trial, to every seeking soul:
The cross has bridged the chasm, bent the will
Of separation, making whole our right
To dwell with Him, the Holy One, in light.

The Everlasting, Heaven-Shaking Jubilee: Proclaiming the Joy of the Lord as Our Invincible Strength, Our Triumphant War-Cry, Our Radiant Crown of Glory, and Our Unending Song of Victory by Debbie Harris

05 Thursday Mar 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Praise, Thanksgiving

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The joy of the Lord erupts in golden roar,
A wildfire feast that no darkness can tame!
It storms the gates of grief and breaks the door,
And every captive heart cries out His name.

No valley deep enough to drown its blaze,
No mountain high enough to block its flight—
It leaps across the years, through endless days,
A banner blazing brighter than the light!

We rise on wings of laughter, fierce and free,
Our feet crush sorrow underneath our dance;
The enemy retreats in trembling plea
While heaven joins our shout of vast expanse.

O joy invincible, our strength, our crown—
In Thee we triumph, and all creation bows down!

The Oil That Flows Only Under the Crushing Weight: A Meditation on the Ancient Press and the Soul’s Yield by Debbie Harris

05 Thursday Mar 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings

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In groves where silver leaves whisper low,
olives cling, untouched by storm or woe—
round and whole, they promise little more
than quiet shade, a life without a score.

No hand has bruised them, no stone has weighed;
they hang in ease, unpressed, unafraid.
Yet beauty hides in what the eye can’t see:
the treasure locked where comfort used to be.

Then comes the gatherer with steady tread,
the basket, the mill, the ancient crushing bed.
First the beating—branches snap and bend—
then the wheel, the weight that has no end.

Flesh gives way, the skin splits wide,
bitter pulp and seed are torn aside.
What once was firm now yields its core,
a slow, reluctant golden pour.

Not from the branch in sunlit grace,
not from the fruit in gentle place—
the oil flows only when the press is tight,
when darkness falls and pressure bites.

So too the soul beneath the Maker’s hand:
the crushing comes, though none had planned.
The nights of ache, the days of strain,
the questions sharp like winter rain—

these are not ruin, not the end of flight,
but heaven’s patient, holy might
drawing forth what ease could never yield:
a fragrance pure, a light unsealed.

In Gethsemane the press was named,
where One was broken, yet unashamed—
sweat like blood, the stone rolled near,
and oil of grace began to appear.

So if the weight descends today,
and every fiber cries dismay—
remember this, though tears may fall:
the oil was never meant for all.

It waits for those who bear the stone,
who let the breaking make them known.
From crushed places, sacred, deep,
the anointing rises—strong, complete.

Let the press do its faithful art;
what spills is light to heal the heart.
The oil doesn’t come from easy days—
It comes from where the crushed begin to pray.

The Covenant Flame: Abraham’s Faith Reckoned as Righteousness in the Light of Eternal Promise by Debbie Harris

05 Thursday Mar 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings

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From Chaldean shadows, where the zephyr sighed
Through moonlit towers and idol-fires died,
A voice like starlight pierced the wanderer’s night:
“Arise, depart; forsake the known for sight
Unseen. I vow thee seed as numberless
As heaven’s jewels, a blessing to confess
In every tribe.” No map, no guarantee—
Yet Abram rose, his heart in fealty free,
Believing Him who speaks, and worlds obey.

No golden deeds, no spotless life displayed;
The ancient ledger opened, and it weighed
Not merit’s sum, but trust alone. “He believed,”
The sacred page declares, “and was received
As righteous.” Not for flawless steps he trod,
But for the quiet gaze that fixed on God
Beyond the barren years, the empty womb,
The faltering flesh that neared the silent tomb.

Twice fear betrayed him—Sarah named as sister,
A lie to shield from Pharaoh’s cruel blister;
And Hagar’s tent he sought, impatient hand
To grasp the promise ere God’s appointed land.
Yet heaven’s eye, unblinded by his shame,
Beheld not stumbles, but the steady flame
Of faith that grew, unquenched by doubt’s dark gale,
Strong in the glory of the Promise’s tale:
“He staggered not, but hoped against all hope,
Convinced the Giver could the dead enrobe
With life, and call non-being into form.”

O pilgrim hearts that mourn the inward storm,
Replay no night of failure’s bitter cry;
The cross has rent the veil—your sins pass by
Uncounted, covered in the Lamb’s pure blood.
As Abraham, so we: the promise stood
Before the law, before the circumcision’s sign;
It rests on grace, immutable, divine.

Behold the Christ, the Seed foretold of old,
Who bore our curse on timber stark and cold,
Rose crowned with dawn to vindicate the claim:
His righteousness imputed, bears our name.
No more performance chains the soul in thrall;
We stand accepted—forgiven, loved through all.

Live promise-conscious, then, beneath the skies
Where ancient stars still sing of covenant ties.
Let not the shadow of our falls obscure
The light that shines forever pure and sure.
For in the risen Lord the word is sealed:
Believe—and every wound of sin is healed.
The faith of Abraham, through ages bright,
Becomes our own, our everlasting right

The Spirit Thunders: Do Not Bow From Obscure Winepress to the Front Lines of Holy Confrontation and Divine Deliverance by Debbie Harris

04 Wednesday Mar 2026

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

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

A prophetic poem calling modern believers to uncompromising faithfulness amid widespread compromise. Drawing from Gideon’s hidden calling in the winepress to tear down Baal’s altar and the three Hebrews’ refusal to bow to Nebuchadnezzar’s golden image, it urges a remnant “Gideon host” to reject subtle pressures—pragmatism, popularity, false unity—and stand unbowed. Though isolated and threatened by a roaring furnace of opposition, the faithful are promised the presence of the “Fourth Man” (Christ) in the flames, divine deliverance, and the charge to confront idols, restore holy worship, and reclaim God’s name.

In twilight vales where Midian shadows creep,
A man of threshing-floor and secret keep
Beats wheat in gloom, where vintage presses lie,
Lest raiders seize the fruit beneath the sky.
No trumpet calls him yet, no host arrays;
Heaven marks him silent in his lowly days.
Then voice of flame: “Go, tear the altar down
Thy father built to Baal upon the town.
Uproot the grove where compromise has grown,
And let the sacred fire be kindled known.”

So rises now a hidden, Gideon host—
Not crowned with pomp, nor mustered for the boast,
But called from winepress, cave, and quiet room,
To face the principalities of doom.
They bear no sword at first, but oil divine
That drips from consecrated head and spine.
The old order trembles when they speak;
They name the tolerated sin as weak,
The negotiated peace as coward’s chain,
And bid the idols fall in thunder’s reign.

Yet pressure comes—not sword, but subtle plea:
“Bend but a little; wiser men agree.
The furnace glows, the image gleams with gold—
Bow once, and live; be prudent, not so bold.”
They whisper, “Rebellion!” to the pure;
“Immaturity!” to hearts that will endure.
“Divisive!” cry the builders of the shrine
Whose altars blend the holy with the swine.

But lo, the Spirit thunders through the soul:
DO. NOT. BOW. Let every knee stay whole.
Not to the fear that chills the midnight air,
Nor politics that coil in serpent’s snare,
Nor platforms raised on popularity’s sand,
Nor religious rods that strike with iron hand.
Not Baal’s high place, nor Nebuchadnezzar’s flame,
Nor any yoke that bears another’s name.

As once three Hebrews stood in Babylon’s plain,
Where music swelled and golden image reigned,
They heard the king: “Fall down, or feel the fire!”
Yet answered calm: “Our God is One, entire.
He is able to deliver from thy hand,
But though He slay us, still we take our stand.
We will not serve thy gods, nor bow the head
To molten lie, though furnace blaze be spread.”

The furnace roared, seven times its fury fed;
The binders fell, consumed where they had led.
But in the midst—O vision past all sight!—
A fourth walked free, the Son of Man in light.
No scorch upon their hair, no smell of smoke;
The chains of flame themselves in silence broke.

So stand, O remnant, marked by Heaven’s seal:
Though isolated, though the mockers jeer,
Though systems shake and ancient altars reel,
Though furnace threatens every path severe—
DO. NOT. BOW.
The fire you carry is not yours to dim;
It burns from God, and no formed weapon grim
Shall prosper while you hold the steadfast line.
Tear down, rebuild; let holy altars shine.

Light now the match in preaching, prayer, and praise;
Let worship blaze through all your mortal days.
The trumpet sounds, the Gideon host awakes—
Forward, unbowed, for Zion’s glory’s sake.
The fourth Man walks beside thee in the flame;
Refuse the knee—reclaim the sacred name.

Stand. Confront. Restore.
And do not bow.

Though Nations Rage by Debbie Harris

04 Wednesday Mar 2026

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

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Why do the nations vainly rage,
And peoples plot in dark array?
Kings of the earth in fury wage
Their war against the Lord’s own sway,
Against His Christ, the Anointed Son—
“Let us cast off His cords!” they cry.

Yet from His throne in heaven’s height
The Sovereign laughs at their decree;
In wrath He speaks with piercing light,
“I’ve set My King on Zion free—
My holy hill shall bear His name,
And all the earth shall kiss His claim.”

Though kingdoms totter, nations roar,
And earth itself in terror melt;
Though mountains shake from shore to shore,
And seas in foaming tumult dwelt—
The Lord of hosts is in her midst,
His city stands where none resist.

A river streams to make her glad,
The dwelling of the Most High God;
At break of dawn His help is had—
One word, and chaos feels the rod.
Be still, and know that He is God;
His throne endures where none may trod.

He breaks the bow, He shatters spear,
The chariot burns in victory’s flame;
Exalted high, all nations fear—
The Lord Almighty reigns the same.
Though rage may swell and tempests rise,
God sits enthroned beyond the skies.

O blessed they who trust His might,
Who kiss the Son ere wrath consume;
His kingdom dawns in endless light,
Where every rebel finds his doom.
Though nations rage, though wars abound—
God reigns supreme; His throne is sound.

God Our Shield: To the Weary Heart by Debbie Harris

04 Wednesday Mar 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings

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When weariness doth cloak the spirit round,
And burdens, silent, press upon the breast,
When unseen sorrows chain the feet to ground,
And prayers seem lost in heaven’s vast unrest—
Look not to fleeting hopes that rise and fall,
Nor trust the heart when faith itself grows dim;
For God Himself is shield to one and all
Who in His mercy hide and rest in Him.

Every word of God proves true and sure,
Not one hath failed through ages dark or bright;
His promises endure, forever pure,
A refuge steadfast in the blackest night.
He is the shield—no arrow finds its mark
When soul takes shelter ‘neath His mighty wing;
Though tempests rage and shadows gather stark,
His truth protects; His faithfulness doth cling.

Behold the cross, where greatest promise stood—
The Lamb once slain, the victory complete;
Redemption sealed in agony and blood,
Fulfilled in love no darkness could defeat.
If God so kept His vow through death’s own door,
Shall lesser griefs undo His covenant grace?
Nay—every trial meets the shield He bore,
And in Christ’s finished work we find our place.

O tired heart, when doubt would whisper low
That thou art forgotten in the fray,
Recall: the shield of God shall never go;
He stands between thee and the foe alway.
No burden breaks what grace hath made secure,
No path too dim for His unchanging ray;
The cross declares, the Word itself is sure—
God is our shield; take refuge while ye may.

So rest, belovèd, in this armor bright,
Though seasons weary and the night seems long;
His every promise glows with living light,
And turns thy mourning into endless song.
For He who rose and reigns above the strife
Is shield eternal—thy defense, thy song, thy life.

O Weary Heart, Take Refuge Still by Debbie Harris

04 Wednesday Mar 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings

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Biblical Truth, Christian, Christian Poetry, god, gospel, hope, jesus-christ, Poetry, Royally Redeemed, salvation

O weary heart, when shadows lengthen long,
And burdens press that mortal eyes ne’er see,
When prayers ascend on slow, reluctant wing,
And hope seems faint ‘midst life’s perplexity—
Lift not thine eyes to shifting circumstance,
Nor let despair enthrone its fleeting throne;
For every word that from the Almighty came
Proves true, a shield where refuge may be known.

Not one fair promise falters in the night,
Though storms assail and tempests veil the sky;
God’s ancient vows, through ages ever bright,
Stand firm when earthly comforts fade and die.
He spoke of grace, of pardon full and free—
The Messiah’s blood, the cross’s victory won;
In that dread hour when darkness veiled the tree,
His greatest pledge was sealed: the work is done.

If He who framed the stars kept faith so vast,
Fulfilling prophecy in love’s deep cost,
Shall lesser trials His covenant outlast?
Nay—every sorrow finds its end in Christ.
The cross replies to doubt’s most cunning art:
“Behold, I am faithful; trust Me with thy part.”

So lean, O soul, upon this steadfast rock,
Though heart grow tired and flesh would faint away;
The shield of refuge bears no mortal shock—
In Jesus’ finished work thy strength renews each day.
No unseen load can sever love divine;
No darkened path can dim His guiding ray.
For He who rose triumphant o’er the grave
Still writes thy story in unerring grace.

Rest, then, in promises that never bend,
Till weary seasons yield to endless morn;
Thy God hath spoken—every word shall end
In triumph, as the first faint light is born.
Take refuge, heart: the cross thy anchor proves—
God’s Word is true, and in His truth thou moves.

O King Of Glory, We Adore Thee by Debbie Harris

04 Wednesday Mar 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Praise, Royally Redeemed, salvation

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A joyful 7-stanza hymn of praise with a repeating refrain, celebrating:

God’s salvation through Christ’s cross and resurrection
His faithful provision and daily care
Divine protection under His wings
The precious, guiding light of Scripture
Bold access to God in prayer
Our royal identity as anointed sons and daughters of the King, empowered with strength, wisdom, and discernment
Overflowing grace, mercy, power, and life in Christ—seen by God as He sees His Beloved Son, with our names forever written in the Book of Life

The refrain exalts the King of glory and rejoices that “our names are writ in life’s great spring,” ending each stanza with triumphant “Hallelujah!” praise.

Stanza 1
From depths of sin and death’s dark shadow,
Thy mercy called us to the light;
Thy Son upon the cross of sorrow
Bore all our guilt in endless might.
Redeemed by blood, we stand forgiven,
In resurrection power we rise!

Refrain
O King of glory, we adore Thee!
Salvation’s joy our hearts now sing!
In Christ Thy Son, Thou dost restore me—
Our names are writ in life’s great spring!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Forever praise to Thee we bring!

Stanza 2
Thy hand provides our daily manna,
In fields of grace Thy bounty flows;
No want shall ever overcome us,
For Thou the Bread of Life bestow’st.
In every season, Thou art faithful,
Sustaining all who trust Thy care!

Stanza 3
Beneath Thy wings we find our refuge,
No evil force can breach Thy wall;
Thy angels guard our every pathway,
Thy mighty name shall never fall.
Though storms may rage and foes assail us,
Thy shield of love prevails o’er all!

Stanza 4
Thy Word, O Lord, a lamp eternal,
Illumines hearts with truth divine;
In pages breathed by Thy own Spirit,
We hear Thy voice, Thy will we find.
More precious than the gold of nations,
Thy Scriptures guide us home to Thee!

Stanza 5
In prayer we come before Thy presence,
With boldness through the Savior’s name;
Thy throne of grace invites our crying,
Thy ear attentive to our claim.
Communion sweet with Thee, our Father,
Transforms our souls in heaven’s flame!

Stanza 6
As royalty on earth anointed,
Sons and daughters of the King we stand;
Thy Spirit grants us strength for battle,
Wisdom and discernment by Thy hand.
Empowered heirs of Thy great kingdom,
We reign in life through Christ our Lord!

Stanza 7
Thy grace abounds, Thy mercy follows,
Thy power revives and makes us whole;
In Christ Thou seest not our failings,
But Thy Beloved, pure in soul.
Our names inscribed in Life’s bright volume,
Eternal joy awaits our call!

Look Not Within, but Fix on Him Who Redeems: Meditations on the Samaritan Woman at Jacob’s Well by Debbie Harris

03 Tuesday Mar 2026

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

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John 4:16–18 (KJV)
Jesus saith unto her, Go, call thy husband, and come hither.
The woman answered and said, I have no husband.
Jesus said unto her, Thou hast well said, I have no husband:
For thou hast had five husbands; and he whom thou now hast is not thy husband: in that saidst thou truly.

Beneath the midday blaze at Jacob’s well,
A weary woman drew her daily need,
Five husbands gone, one more her heart could tell—
Yet shame had taught her noonward steps to speed.
The Stranger asked, “Go call thy husband near,”
Not to expose, but knowing every scar;
He named her hidden life without a sneer,
And offered streams where living waters are.
No condemnation fell from lips divine,
No barrier rose where grace began to flow;
Her jar forgotten, boldness filled her line:
“Come, see a Man who all my secrets know!”
Thus sin’s dark weight is carried off in streams—
Look not within, but fix on Him who redeems.