Built on The Rock

It was just the wind

I took the plunge.

Not into water, but into the thin

crackle of pages turned,

the deep, ancient current of The Word.

Down I went, past the shallow anxieties,

into the quiet pressure of Truth.

Where my own breath felt foreign

and the light was a soft, filtered thing

from a world I’d left behind.

I thought I would find a place with no fear.

A sterile room, a silent sea.

But instead, revelation came,

not in a shout, but a whisper 

that rearranged the bones in my ears:

Freedom isn’t the absence of fear.

It’s not the banishing of the tremors,

nor the erasing of the shadow 

that walks behind me.

No.

Fear is still here.

It still taps at the window,

a familiar ghost in a familiar house.

But the key. The key!

Now I have the key.

And fear, no longer has the authority

to consume my thoughts,

to build a bonfire in my mind

and burn all the furniture

until there is nothing left to sit on 

but its hard, cold logic.

Now, the thought of it,

is just a thought, a passing cloud.

And I have room to breathe.

Fear no longer makes my decisions,

its fingers no longer tangled in my strings,

like a clumsy puppeteer,

making me dance a frantic, panicked jig.

I choose to step forward now.

Or to stand still.

Not because its chains are gone,

but because I am no longer a prisoner

wearing them.

Fear no longer dictates my future,

that dark, heavy hand

writing my story in permanent ink.

I’ve taken the pen back.

The path is no longer 

a terrifying obstacle course,

but a pilgrimage.

The map is not a threatening maze,

but an open invitation.

I came up from the Word,

with a new understanding.

Yes, the world was the same,

the wind still blew cold.

But the fear… the fear was just the wind.

And I am the house, built on The Rock,

unshaken.

Free, not from fears feeling,

but from its reign.

Thank you Lord Jesus!

© 1/10/2026 by David Douglas

Mothers

In the quiet dawn of every new day,  
Mothers rise with the sun, embracing the light,  
Their hands, gentle yet strong, weave tapestries of dreams,  
Nurturing the tender hearts of their children,  
With whispers of hope and the warmth of their love.  

In gardens of laughter, they plant the seeds,  
Of curiosity, kindness, and boundless belief,  
Each moment a treasure, each smile a bloom,  
Yet within this joy, also linger the shadows,  
For sadness is woven in the fabric of growth.  

As children learn to stretch and soar,  
Mothers watch with an uneasy pride.
Aware of the bittersweet dance of letting go,  
Knowing that every step toward independence,  
Carries a piece of her heart into the world.  

But like the roots of a mighty tree,  
Her love runs deep, unyielding and true.  
In every stumble, every tear that falls,  
She is there, a strong steadfast light,  
Guiding them through the storms of life.  

In the tapestry of time, her wisdom unfolds,  
Each thread a lesson, each color a story,  
And as the years blossom, children turn to wings.  
They carry mothers love, as a song in their souls,  
Forever embraced, though paths may separate.  

So let us celebrate that the tapestry is spun,  
A mosaic of laughter, tears, forgiveness and grace.  
For in the long echoes of their journeys,  
Mothers and children, are forever entwined,  
Planting seeds of love wherever they go.

©David Douglas May 5, 2025

Brokenness: A Journey to Divine Intimacy

In the quiet shadows of our souls,  Where cracks and wounds are deep,  We wander through the valleys low,  With burdens so heavy, we can but weep.  Yet in our brokenness, there lies  His tender, healing grace,  A whisper of the heart, a sigh,  That draws us to His sacred place.  For it is here, amidst the pain,  Of shattered dreams laid bare,  We find the hand of God extends,  And lifts us with His loving care.  Each fracture tells a story true,  Of battles fought and lost,  But it is in brokenness, we learn  The depth of His love, and its cost.  Our journey winds through thorny paths,  Where doubt and sorrow tread,  Yet every tear and heavy sigh  Points to the love blood that He shed.  With every crack, a light breaks through,  A prism of God's design,  Reflecting hope in our fractured hearts,  We grasp for the light and begin to shine. And in the truth of our anxiety, Born from our deepest fears,  It is in knowing we are not alone,  That we will find Him through our tears.  Through every stumble, every fall,  He will cradle us in His grace,  And in the moments of our need,  We find this truth to embrace.  Together in this sacred dance,  Of pain and joy entwined,  We will meet the God who walked our road,  And experienced pain of every kind. So let the brokenness entail,  The journey we undertake,  For in our tender, fragile state,  His love will never, ever fail.  Come, let us cherish every scar,  Each part that feels painful still,  For in embracing our brokenness,  We come to surrender to His will.  ©David Douglas 6/23/2023