Created and formed by the DNA of my mother and father.

Only to come through the birth canal to be left.

By mother.

And father.

Whisked away by unknown  hands.

Away from the nine months of familiarity.

Into the unfamiliar.

The voices I once heard.

I no longer remember.

Learning new voices.

And new spaces.

Seeing my refection for the very  first time.

Through the eyes of rejection and abandonment.

But the DNA of my mother and father.

Still beating in the drums of my heart.

Who am I?

Why am I here?

To be left alone.

Passed from home to home.

Like the collection plate at offering time.

Certainly, I am here for a reason.

To discover who I really am.

From the passions of my heart’s desires.

I choose to stop fighting my purpose.

And just be.






We cry out for revival.

We cry out for change.

We cry out for the fire.

We cry out for the Glory.

We cry.

And we cry.

When revival is an inside job.

Lord radically change our hearts.

Into your Likeness.

So our hearts can become one with yours.

So we can run this race.

Setting the paths ablaze for your Glory.


Code Blue

The arrhythmia’s of life.

Brought me here.

My feeble heart.

Shocked by waves of pain.

Bleeding until the river runs dry.

Like the Red Sea.

The walls of my heart.

Quivering from the blows.

Life threw my way.

The beat becoming faint.

From the turbulent storms.

My breath laboring.

Is this the end?

Code Blue.


Fighting to Live

The battle.


39 years ago.

The day I entered life.

Designed in His image.

Destined with a beautiful purpose.

The fight began.

For my soul.

As I journeyed.

The intensity intensified.

Thoughts of suicide plagued me.

The destroyer.

After my heart for God.

The liar.

Lying about my identity.

The truth.

Pursuing me.

My eyesight began playing tricks.

As the war continued in my mind.

Dark rain clouds.

Pouring hopelessness.


For the light.

To illuminate the dimensions of my soul.


Are you near?

Because my strength is waning.

Lord, please!

Take this fight!

This battle is not mines.





A meeting place.

Where man meets divinity.

In the garden of  his heart.

An exchange.

His life for his.

He abides.

In him.

He is no longer the same man before the meeting.

He arises.

No longer bitter and empty.


With love that surpasses human understanding.

Brought to his knees.

Overwhelmed by the weight of the essence of His being.

A meeting.

That he will encounter day by day.

As he look within.









I proclaim JESUS IS LORD.

I proclaim that HE is the Saviour.

I proclaim that He is the way, truth and life.

I proclaim there is no other way.

I proclaim Jesus is the way.

I proclaim that every knee will bow and confess Jesus is Lord.

I proclaim He is alive.

I proclaim He is the bridegroom.

I proclaim He is coming back to gather His people.

I proclaim Heaven and Earth will pass away but His word will remain.




Break Every Chain

He is free.

Or is he?

He’s enslaved by the words of a man.

Spoken 400 years ago.

He is free.

Or is he?

His mind held captive by the chains of poverty.

And he succumbs to lack.

He is free.

Or is he?

He visits his child once or even maybe twice a year.

As he takes care of another woman’s child.

He is free.

Or is he?

He can’t take the pressure that comes along with his skin.

So he escapes to get a fix.

He is free.

Or is he?

He looks in the mirror.

He sees a man bound by chains.

Not realizing it’s him.



Religious Performer

I grew up in church since I was five years old.

My family attended five out of the seven days of the week.

We were there more than being at our own home.

Church was all I and my family knew.

I knew the church lingo.

I knew to dance when the break in music came.

I knew to shout when everyone else was shouting.

I knew to put on my choir robe and out sing the tenors and altos.

I knew to stare at the woman with the pants suit on.

Or the man with the blue jeans.

I unknowingly was being conditioned.

To put on a performance or show, if you will.

I knew of Jesus, that died, and rose on the third day.

But I was in no way, shape, form or fashion connected to Him.

I did not know He had plans to give me a future and hope.

Because of all the silent chaos going on back at home.

When the door was shut and the lights went out.

The noise from things falling off the walls and police knocking.

Soon faded back into my treasure chest of suppressed memories.

When I got out of the car in the church parking lot.

I knew to put on my face, the religious face.

A face that said, I and my family were alright.

All the while broken and bruised under my Sunday’s Best.