Mike Kelly

I was recently asked if I had any interest in performing a spoken word poem with a Christian metal band. The group is local and goes by the name “Intercessor” and shortly after completing and releasing their debut album they gained enough traction to start performing live shows. The lead singer does happen to be a close friend of mine, and so naturally, I was very grateful that he asked, and I was really looking forward to being in a gig with them. As excited as I was for a chance to write and perform something new, I experienced a lot of fear and anxiety around the thought of needing to “perform.” They had only given me a one-month notice so the pressure was on. I found myself easily and quickly getting caught up in “self,” and at one point I began to realize that I was beginning to completely miss the point. Every time I sat down to try and write something that I hoped and intended to be God-glorifying, the image of myself on a stage in front of others while feeling terrified, would pop up and crowd out the images I wanted to express and portray. Images of a loving Heavenly Father; a portrait of the person and work of Jesus; the everlasting truth of The Holy Spirit and His ability to transform hearts; a redeemed perspective and God-driven inspiration was the place where I desperately desired to create from, but I was clearly about to miss the mark. The harder I tried to simply “will” myself into a different mindset, the more anxious I became, and with only two weeks left before the show I had nothing written.

The wedding vows. Whether or not we’ve sat and tried to write them ourselves with the intention of saying them to another person, or if we have been attendees at a wedding ceremony where we’ve sat and listened, as third-party witnesses, to two other individuals say vows to one another, most can agree that it is a particularly sacred moment during the service.

By virtue of trade, I am required to attend and work funerals, often for individuals whom I’ve never met. Funerals may be a part of life, but I would argue that death is not. I’ve never heard it said from a pulpit but a phrase that deeply troubles me goes like this: “Death is natural… it’s a part of life.” The people who I’ve heard speak this way are not ill-intentioned, and the phrase often comes from a good place, but when I hear those words my knee jerk reaction is always a question: “How so?” Death being a “part of life” is usually uttered in passing which is not a particularly appropriate time to offer my retort, therefore I often refrain from launching into what could be an hour-long conversation, but inside… my question resonates, and I hold the internal heaviness of not speaking a counter perspective: death is wrong.

When the deeds and tasks are done… All the signs of mistrust fall between the lines Through the cracks where ash is ever turning, drifting, flowing into dust. I saw my heart. I sang my hopes. I learned that lust… If Is? for the birds. And, in the dark Where secrets lurk I’ve come to learn That speech can loom on useless words.

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to stand as the “best man” in a wedding. And as I was preparing the speech, it really got me thinking about my dear friend, his future bride, and what I believe God teaches us about marriage. I hope this will bless others, single or married.

I’ve been attempting to write this particular post for over four weeks. For some reason I’ve been exceptionally stuck. Between my late-night brainstorming sessions that ultimately amounted to nothing, and early mornings spent staring at a blank page, I’ve caught myself on several occasions growing outright frantic to develop an idea that I felt could offer something meaningful. I still don’t have it. This post is past due and my anxiety over simply scratching something together to just, “turn it in!” has got the best of me. I pray that at this moment, you’re in a season of peace. And if not, this goes out to you.

When I reflect on who it is you are, I tend to see my past mistakes,

It’s 4:00pm. The previous six hours of work lie in the rear-view mirror and what’s left of the day is splayed open like an unwrapped Christmas present; all that’s left is for the corners to be folded down and to tie a bow around the top. The more difficult aspect of my job would have to be the commute – on my best day, meaning very little traffic, the best I can do is 45 minutes (driving non-sinfully) and the worst I’ve ever encountered is 90 minutes. A 90-minute day usually forces me to follow the speed limit, so there is less of a temptation to let my flesh take over the wheel, but on the 90-minute days there is enough angst and frustration going on within my heart to create plenty of other opportunities to sin – please pray for me and my commute. I say all of this in a slapstick manner, but of course, the ugliness of our hearts is never something to be flippant about, and though I do mean it in a lighthearted way, my drive to and from work does become strenuous at times.