In Jesus’ Name – A Poem

March 28, 2023March 28, 2023 Ryan A. FrenchLeave a comment

I’ll always be a poser. 
A loser at heart. 
The inside is broken. 
The outside’s a frame. 
I do it all in Jesus’ name. 

Fame brings no fortune. 
And fortune, no fame. 
The elements twisting. 
Aligning the game. 
Run for the hills in Jesus’ name. 

I’ve always been homeless. 
A wandering soul. 
Jealous of nothing. 
Yet wanting it all. 
Find contentment in Jesus’ name. 

Peace brings no freedom. 
And freedom, no sleep.
The contention still lives.
It always remains.
Til’ the trump sounds in Jesus’ name.

Can you value the future?
Surrender the past? 
Love what’s leftover?
Relinquish the masks?
Just lay them down in Jesus’ name.

What Will Become of Us All? – A Poem

December 21, 2022December 26, 2022 Ryan A. French

White picket lines of peaceful persuasion
Cannot undo the cost of invasion
Endless fine lines of baser perversions
Weakened strains of moral conversions
Flawlessly wielding falsified searches
What will become of us all?

Cold, calculating meaningless data 
Hiding underneath the smiling strata 
Clinging to less fortunate ideas 
Laughing, dragging, while dreaming of sions
Intricate veins coursing with curses
What will become of us all?

Meanwhile, one white robed throng preaches the Writ
Tenaciously keeping holy flames lit
Falling valiant, bleeding from vicious slits  
Ten thousand swords critically slashing hits
Battered, beleaguered saints climb past ashen fritz 
What will become of us all?

One bright light pierces the eastern sky
A triumphant shout falls from mountain highest   
One brilliant white horse gracefully flies
The armies of Heaven closely aligned 
Every blood-stained voice shouts toward the sight
What will become of us all?

The Ghosts of Tomorrow – A Poem

November 13, 2022November 13, 2022 Ryan A. French

They twist and turn in the lamplights glow
  Whether friend or foe we do not know
    Tomorrow's ghosts above and below
      They are tellers of yesterday's truths

The woven tales are not of their making
  The chains they clutch hellishly shaking
    With fingers pointed and backs aching
      They are tellers of yesterday's truths

Consequences near or far removed
  Only delayed by time unreproved
    Their only intent is life improved
      They are tellers of yesterday's truths

Can I deter my own convictions
  Interfere with mystic magicians
    Paving way for faulty suspicians
      For the tellers of yesterday's truths

Holding onto hope like slippery pearls
  My tenderized heartache twists and twirls
    Fading memories chasing unkept trails
      From the tellers of yesterday's truths

This transformation isn't complete
  Little changes building faith so sweet
    Ground thumping with irregular beats
      For the tellers of yesterday's truths

May tomorrow's ghosts see helpless grace
  Arrogance gone like a broken vase
    Reckless demons falling out of place
      For the tellers of yesterday's truths

The Gates of Hell – A Poem

October 25, 2022October 25, 2022 Ryan A. French

I’ll take you to the gates of Hell 
I’ll show you what’s there
It’s a horrific, sadistic, gaudy affair
With twisted metals and steep swirling stairs

I’ll take you to the throne of Death
I’ll show you the way
It sits atop the fork of two great lakes
One called disunion, the other disgrace

I’ll take you to the bowels of Hades
I’ll show you who’s there
The liars, the lied-to, ordinary faces
With haunted red eyes and bent bloody feet

I’ll take you to the edge of Sorrow
I’ll show you the pain
The broken, intrepid, intricate traces
Longing to find relief yet complacent 

I’ll take you to the verge of Salvation
I’ll show you the plan
The death, the water, the rush of language 
Choice determines the end destination

Daemonium Avi (Narratio Carmine) – Demonic Bird (A Narrative Poem)

October 25, 2021October 25, 2021 Ryan A. French

A Brief Introduction

Daemonium Avi is a narrative poem based on an actual event that took place in the parking lot of my church. Daemonium is the Latin word for demonic, and avi is the Latin word for bird. I believe the title accurately describes the subject of the poem. Demonic Bird seemed to carry more gravitas in Latin. Plus, what is poetry without a little dramatic flair? However, the contents of this poem are true, and no dramatization could adequately capture the intensity of the spiritual encounter. Hopefully, poetically sharing this moment will remind others that the supernatural invades the natural more often than we realize. And that a person filled with the Holy Ghost has authority over satanic fear tactics. Resistance in the name of Jesus will cause the enemy to flee (James 4:7).

Daemonium Avi

The car door thudded a final thump

Keys rattled and clanked against 

A coffee cup of metal and steam

It wafted tantalizingly in the sun

Arms and elbows full of daily chores

I fumbled around opening the door

When a blackbird perched nearby

Lifted a guttural unearthly cry
 
Startled, I turned to see this beast

Could this blackbird really speak

Yes, it stared angrily towards me

You’ll never win it screamed and shrieked 

God doesn’t care, and your faith is too weak

I swallowed a lump lodged in my throat

How did this brute steal my hope

This blackbird wasn’t a bird at all

Something sinister was truly involved 

Suddenly I noticed it’s crooked wing

Hanging as if lodged by a string

The bird spoke again, but this time it sneaked

One step, then two, nearer it creeped

Blurred vision, my head spinning ‘round

My voice thickened to master a sound

I knew this fowl was not Heaven sent

A single prick of light suddenly hit

The warmth of courage filled me up

From head to toe, I shivered and shook

Words tumbled out from somewhere below

In Jesus’ name, be gone, thou devilish crow

The Glittering Edge of Truth

September 25, 2021October 19, 2022 Ryan A. French

It was not hard but rather easy standing on the glittering edge of Truth. “Of this thing, I am almost persuaded,” he gestured with an elusive wave of the hand. And with that unholy utterance, a heavy silence blanketed the thronging crowd. Just like that, the chasm between error and eternity widened its dark gaping mouth.

Yet, self-delusions are only illusions that become more elusive with each passing year. “What is Truth?” the tyrant cried while neurotically washing his blood-stained hands. But the Truth was a man standing tall before his gaze with thorns pressed against His brow. A God-man-king who refused to win His Kingdom with swords or mechanisms of man.

“Are you a king?” the petty tyrant sneered, to which the God-man-king replied with ease. “My kingdom is not of this world, and anyone belonging to Truth listens and obeys My voice.” The seed thudded against the soil, but some rock, some thorn, some unseen hand snatched. Little did the tyrant know how close to the warm glittering edge of Truth he stood that day.

A whisp of wind, the chirping of a phone, the struggle of a long day ever pulls our minds away. Away from thoughts that matter beyond the scope of this finite earthly existence. “There is no Truth but this one truth that there is no Truth.” They shout from ivory towers. They shrug and smirk at their own paradoxical claims knowing something isn’t quite right.

Yet, they stroll into the darkness without pausing to examine the glittering edge of Truth. There are fakes, and fake fakes, and fake fakes of fakes, but it does not dimmish the diamond’s gleam. Some follow Truth with doubts. Others follow lies with faith. “Which is better?” The prophets ask. To which the crowds respond, “We have no answer except to follow our feelings forward.”

Forward into the darkness, their feelings lead them into pits of despair formerly unknown. A sudden light appears between fanciful dreams in the eyes of a boy who has never known joy. “In seeking pleasure, we’ve only found pain. In seeking love, we’ve only found hate.” He cries. He looks to the stars for the first time in forever, and at that moment, he is not alone.

This boy hears the cosmic heartbeat and feels the breath of the God-man-king move across his skin. This is it! The moment we each will find before we die, an otherworldly encounter. The forlorn boy closes his eyes and cries, “Am I really standing on the glittering edge of Truth?” He was, and you will too, so when that moment comes, just know, eternity depends on what you do.

Apostolic Voice with Ryan French

A relevant apostolic resource that covers biblical topics of interest, ministry, Christian living, and practical insights hosted by Ryan French. An extension of the popular blog Apostolic Voice (www.ryanafrench.com). Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/apostolicvoice/support

This original poem by Ryan was first featured at ryanafrench.com called The Glittering Edge of Truth. Enjoy this dramatic spoken adaptation.

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October 17, 2021

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Better (A Poem for JJ)

September 26, 2020February 9, 2023 Ryan A. French1 Comment

Everything meant to break us made us stronger than we were before.

Every fear meant to freeze us made us braver than we were before.

Every lie meant to ensnare made us wiser than we were before.

Every dream we thought was dead is bigger and better than it was before.

Every sad song became a worship medley in the playlist of our lives.

I remember when we talked and you cried tears of joy and healing was in the sky.

Our hearts soared to spiritual heights as realizations of love filled our eyes.

I remember when you took my hand and asked if we would always be alright.

I knew then that God would always be at the center of our lives.

He took broken puzzle pieces, trampled-twisted; flipped them around, and made masterpieces with them.

Every hurt meant to embitter made us better than we were before.

Every hit meant to bruise made us bolder than we were before.

Every strain meant to drain us made us fuller than we were before.

Every chain meant to enslave made us freer than we were before.

Every fallen tear became a bubbling brook in the landscape of our lives.

I remember when the sun stood still and your eyes grew wide as strong winds beat against us for the very first time.

Life did what life does and pain tried to quench the light but you grabbed my hand and held on tight.

That was far from the last time but it was a beautiful beginning to a wonderful life.

“Every sad song became a worship medley in the playlist of our lives.“
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God takes broken puzzle pieces, trampled-twisted; flips them around and makes masterpieces with them.
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The Burden of Truth (A Poem)

December 21, 2019September 25, 2020 Ryan A. French

Ep. 69 | Should Christians & Pastors Be Involved in Politics? with David Tipton (MS District UPCI Superintendent), Pumpkin Oreos Good-Gross-Great with the Brocks, Sister Rachel Cole & French Fam – Apostolic Voice with Ryan French

Mississippi District United Pentecostal Church Superintendent David Tipton is passionate about Christians being involved in politics. So much so he's written a great book called Faith, Freedom & Politics. You can read an in-depth synopsis of that book at http://www.ryanafrench.com. Ryan and Superintendent Tipton discuss why politics matter and practical ways every Christian can make a difference through involvement in local and national politics. Superintendent Tipton gives the incredible testimony of the Mississippi United Pentecostal Church's participation in the landmark overturning of the abortion law Roe vs. Wade. They also address common concerns regarding becoming too political in the church. Superintendent Tipton makes some exciting announcements for a new United Pentecostal Church International initiative called the National Apostolic Christian Leadership Conference (NACLC). Relevant Links: The book Faith, Freedom & Politics by David Tipton Faith, Freedom & Politics book Synopsis by Ryan French http://www.naclc.org (National Apostolic Christian Leadership Conference) — Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/apostolicvoice/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/apostolicvoice/support

The burden of Truth is heavy. Sometimes it feels like too much to bear. The weight of knowledge is forever. It grips the heart with an icy stare.

Wondering soldiers know that home is elusive. They search for solace, yet it’s just not there. They look for hope in the strangest places. They search for kindness in angry faces.

The burden of Truth is an honor to carry. It hurts much more than we show or share. The cost of honor is expensive. It takes a toll yet most don’t care.

The dutiful soldier knows something of pain. A lesson that most have never retained. Opposition to Truth brings death to the soul. So, to the Truth we tenderly hold.

Dear one remember that life is a vapor. It’s not what we’re feeling that matters the most. For hearts are deceitful and often don’t know. It’s where we are going that matters the most.

Dear one remember that life is a vapor. It’s not what we’re feeling that matters the most. For hearts are deceitful and often don’t know. It’s where we are going that matters the most. #apostolicvoice #ryanfrench
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What we touch today might be gone by tomorrow. Making the burden of Truth a blessing most hallowed. For what we can’t see will endure beyond sorrow. And, the depths of despair are blessedly shallow.