AnthonyFosterPhD

Groans Too Deep for Words Deep, deep is the falling night As we weep our wounds shine bright You cannot hide the holy pain When there’s nothing to lose and nothing to gain And the wrongness cannot seem to be made right Devastation is our salvation Dead to self and alive to the holy One Transformation by New Creation Taken to the depths of the soul by the Son Rending my old garments as I am undone. And every passion I have known Pales in comparison to this new light Blinding me and showing me the seeds I have sown They had surely taken over in their blight Now I know the blinded woundedness of this unseen sight. Well a heart can cry and a soul can moan And a body tells a truth that can be shown And the Spirit gives voice to the prayers I groan In this darkest night my mind has known From this deepest well the most wondrous wail I’ve never heard But my comforter intercedes for these groans to deep for words For my redeemer bleeds with groans too deep for words. Groans too deep for word...

Angels in realms of Glory Pure exaltation raise Witness to the amazing story As light sets this darkness ablaze All they can do is wonder Fall on theiur faces and sing As darkness is torn asunder And light to this world Christ brings You are the Song of Heaven Come become the Song of Earth You are the Song of Heaven Creation sings of your worth Sing to us Words of Salvation Strains of redemption we’d hear Melody of New Creation Ring in our hearts bright and clear. This humble and holy birth Will change the course of creation This Cosmic invasion of earth Brings Yahweh’s promise of Salvation All history has served as sign From the day that time began This day for which a world was designed Before the beginning , it was planned You are the Song of Heaven Come become the Song of Earth You are the Song of Heaven Creation sings of your worth Sing to us Words of Salvation Strains of redemption we’d hear Melody of New Creation Ring in our hearts bright and clear.

God of the prancing fire God of the falling snow God of the dancing heart God of the singing soul Come fill our heart’s desire Your presence we would know Lord fill us with your fire Abide with us here below. Stir up the embers now Come set our hopes ablaze Come as we humbly bow While angels astounded gaze Give us your grace and peace Come set the prisoner free From winter’s chains release As your sacred light we see. Anthony Foster December 2008

Christ left the Father’s throne Where the worship of angels he’d known Taking on human flesh and bone So that the Truth at last could be shown. Realms of glory on high Could not avert His eye For greater Glory called From a feeble cattle stall. So mystery is displayed The ultimate penalty paid Was it worth it? Was it worth it? Only God can know. And God has deemed it so. The Glory now descends Tabernacles with us men For He had counted the true cost Even before this world was lost. Salvation now has come Bound up in a beloved Son Was it worth it? Was it worth it? Oh the priviledge he would not grasp Grace is born in this baby’s first gasp… December 2008 Anthony Foster

I got a call today and there was no one on the other end of the line- or so I thought... Later an email came in with news that made me laugh out loud. A co worker's DOG had hit redial on her phone while she was at lunch and called me- when she returned from lunch there was a 51 minute call to me from the pooch. She must have been too shy to bark... I told my coworker her dog could call me anytime- It'll probably be a better conversation than most calls I get...

I realize some folks will be having these for Christmas dinner, but no thanks, I'll pass...

As anyone who looks here might notice, the blogging has taken a back burner to studying for comprehensive exams, writing papers, presenting papers, conducting workshops and teaching of late. Eventually things will pick up again as I hope the flow won't dry up altogether. Here's something I ran across from a dear cousin who passed away some years ago. She wrote it as a child in 1909... December 17, 1909--Dear Santa Claus, I am a little girl nine years old and I live back on the river, five miles from Shepherdsville. Oh, Santa, you can come up the river. I am looking for you to come to see me, and I want you to bring me a doll and some oranges and a pair of shoes; and oh, Santa, don’t come down the chimney that has the stove pipe in it, you might get fastened. Santa, the roads are so rough I am afraid you will not come. I want you to come, so I will close. Please come. From Clara B. Trigg Makes me smile.