the wall - a drabble of 100 words

I can’t find him. He isn’t anywhere.

Status updates. lol. Youth Camp photos. Friend requests. Profile pictures. Wall posts. Updated? Three minutes ago.

Look deeper.

Photo albums. Mutual friends. View videos of me! Tag this picture. ttyl. Flare. Bumper Stickers. Edit profile. 500 comments. 8 billion thumbs-up.

Deeper.

Blog posts. Top 10 friends. Quizzes. Wall-to-wall. omg! i’m a sagittarius! ur a dinosaur! haha :) whats up, cutie?

Three hot boys like your profile picture. You don’t know them.

"Write something!"

OK.

WHAT IS THIS CRAP? WHERE'S THE ETERNAL VALUE?

Who ARE you?

Where is HE?

I can’t find Jesus on facebook.

A tribute to Youth Camp - a drabble of 100 words

One hundred and three campers rise from their seats, like a wave.

It breaks.

Mouths open; hearts sing. The Spirit moves, God speaks. Joy erupts, passion builds, hands rise, tears fall…

A voice. A doubt. Is this for real?

My heart laughs in ecstasy: Satan, you have lost! Sin’s fleeting pleasure cannot compare with THIS joy, THIS love, THIS Savior! Come, doubt! Come, temptation! My Lord will have victory! My Savior is my all!

My spirit soars. My soul shouts, Rejoice!

Another voice.

THE STEADFAST LOVE OF THE LORD ENDURES FOREVER. DEAR CHILD, REMEMBER.

I laugh. I cry. I dance.

beauty lost - a drabble of 100 words

The sun sets over the still, green-gray waters of the North Atlantic, sending rockets of pink and periwinkle ricocheting through the sky. A sea breeze envelops her face. She closes her eyes, breathes deeply, feels the sand sift through her toes.

She can’t help but wonder how this sunset would explode with glory if she – if all mankind – had never sinned, how all creation would embody the holiness of the Creator. She’s awed by unimaginable splendor.

A wave breaks along the shore.

She weeps. Not for the beauty before her, but for the beauty of God. Beauty, in creation, lost.



“For now we see in a mirror dimly…” (1 Corinthians 13:12)

this most certainly is NOT literary

"I'll turn him into a flea. A harmless little flea. Then, I'll put that flea in a box. And then I'll put that box into another box. And then I'll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives... AHAHAHA!
I'll SMASH IT WITH A HAMMER!"

~Yzma, "The Emperor's New Groove"

youth?

age: 9
lying in the street
late at night – like, 8:30?
laughing
“are we allowed to do this?”

age: 17
lying in the street
in the dark
gazing at the stars
musing
“what’s out there?”

age: who knows?
where does it end?
youth?
what is life, anyway?
lying in the street
wasting time
throwing away the seconds
like rotten apples -
good for something if you’d only use them -
dawdling
fantasizing...

shock.
I mean, there it is, man.
“is this grown up?”

(c) Emma Gay 2009

thank you, mr obama

let's take God
and lock Him in a
little
black
box
(as if that could contain His presence).
then we'll strut around the world
(or our estimation of it)
making vanity our God
and convincing ourselves that pushing through bills He hates
will make Him disappear.

let's take God
and mount Him on a
great
white
pedestal
(as if He needed us to advertise His glory).
then we'll show the Conservatives that Democrats can be Christians, too
(even though none of us love Jesus)
trying to tweak the Gospel, to make it less offensive
until I am the Savior
and it isn't the Gospel at all.

let's take this crap of contradictions and smash them together
until it's obvious that they just don't fit
and then insist that of course we never tried to do a thing like that.
let's deny and rephrase and fill our speech with fluff
so we're neither Conservative nor Liberal
and especially not Muslim
(except for sometimes)
and then, for good measure, make God our campaign manager
all in the name of the polls,
the editorials,
and politics.

(c) Emma Gay 2009

Untitled

The sparrow and the chickadee are speaking on the lawn
(As many birds are wont to do when summer's almost gone)
Observing how the men on earth see not how seasons fly...
Time marches stead'ly onward, and, too soon, it ends.

They die.

(c) Emma Gay 2009

a wacky poem

If I'm ever kidnapped, you don't need to fear
The kidnappers soon will return me back here!

You need pay no ransom - in fact, move away!
Then THEY'LL have to keep me the rest of their days!

So if you don't want me - you're whacked if you do -
Then kidnappers are of great value to you!