Altars of the Heart

He promised, He spoke, and oh, He gave, A peace so deep, a love so brave. Beyond my thoughts, beyond my mind, A rest so sweet, so rare to find. See how I sleep, how still, how free, Like a baby wrapped in eternity. Morning wakes me, soft and bright, I smile—I know, all is right. Oh, what comfort, oh, what care! No love like His, none can compare. He holds, He shields, He lifts, He stays, His mercy new with every day. Too good, too kind, too strong, too true, My heart, my soul, belong to You. Praise, praise to the One who reigns, The Prince of Peace, forever the same!

“Let’s play a game,” the Spirit speaks, A holy stirring, soft yet deep. Within me spins a crimson light, A cleansing force, so fierce, so bright. A ball of blood, a wheel of grace, It moves within, it sweeps each space. It rolls, it turns, in endless flight, Pulling darkness into light. No stain remains, no fear can stay, The blood of Christ has made a way. It spins through marrow, breath, and bone, Replacing all with heaven’s throne. Glory fills the emptied halls, Peace resounds as strongholds fall. Every pulse, a holy dance, A cleansing fire in endless trance. It never stops, it never slows, The life of God forever flows. I stand, I breathe, renewed, set free— The Spirit plays His game in me.

  Who is the Creator, the One beyond sight? The weaver of fire, the sculptor of light? He spoke, and the stars leapt wild into form, Yet held back His power to make man soft and warm. I think of the sun—how it burns without end, How galaxies swirl where no limits extend. Yet He, in His wisdom, formed us so small, Delicate whispers compared to it all. He is powerful, He is gentle, He carves with hands both vast and nimble. Like learning the strokes of a peony’s grace, Each petal drawn with a slow, soft trace. In old Hanoi, where time bends and flows, With careful intent, my brushstroke slows. I feel Him there, in the art I create, In every curve, in each deliberate weight. At Train Street, faces flicker past, So different, yet made to last. Versions of beauty, diverse yet aligned, Reflections of Him in color and time. How He must love the spectrum He’s spun— Not just the bright, not just the one. But shades of many, like dawn and dusk, A world designed with i...