Home

Transitions.
Sun to stars.
Day to night.
Waking to sleeping.
Lunch to dinner.
Tadpole to frog.
Kindergarten to first grade.
High school to college.
College to graduation.
Graduating to a future
that's got the fingerprints of God all over it.
Yet sometimes, I see my fingerprints mixed in with his, too.
There are stages of my life
where I see more of his love than mine,
and more of his breath than mine.
Then, there are those times
that are far and few in between
where I see a mixture and cannot tell
if they are mine
or his.
This is the place I find myself in now.
A place of transition to myself and God,
to the "we" in a team of partners,
to the hands that are held together by the bonds from birth.
to the pair of footprints that are marked in the sand.
In the seasons, he is always there.
When I imitate the disciples lack of trust
in my storms raging on the seas,
he is there.
When I doubt or question,
he is there.
When I ask, "what next?"
he is there.
When I say I won't betray you
and do,
he is there.
I walk on a dark and uncertain path
and you light the way for me.
I cry bucketfuls of pain for a world so broken and
you weep alongside me.
With a touch of a finger,
you move the hair out my eyes and
gently caress my face.
You beckon me to stretch me out my hand to you,
and I obey.
You place a ring on my finger, give me a robe, and sandals for my feet.
I look up into your eyes
and realize
I am home.

(copyright by alex puleo 10.29.11)

Prodigal Promises

Come.
Watch.
Hear.
Listen.
His glorious favor spreads rainbows of promises
across the brazen sky;
a sky that quenches with thirst,
of brokenness and shattered lives.
Gray clouds stretch and loom overhead.
Suddenly,
the tears dry up,
the desert becomes fertile and fruitful,
and birds sing in octaves unknown to human ears.
Babes speak as water springs forth from a once barren land.
Neighbors understand each other
and speak the common language of love.
The mender takes a needle and sews the hearts
of the lost back together.
The guy and girl find their hope in Him;
they are betrothed to their Maker,
their Creator,
for eternity.
A love so tender,
so compassionate,
is His devotion to us.
I am His and He is mine.
The ring has been purchased.
The wedding has begun.
Red wine fills clear glasses,
as the host calls for a toast.
Let's feast!


(Copyright - Alex Puleo 10.4.11. This poem I wrote found it's inspiration in two places: The Prodigal God, by Tim Keller, and Psalm 66: 5 & 16: "Come and see what God has done, how awesome his works in man's behalf. . . Come and listen, all you who fear God; let me tell you what he has done for me.")