By S. F. Dekreel

My brain is wrecked, my heart is hollow
Dwelling on the idols I’ve been trying to follow
I listen to them quarrel and fight in my head
Hungry and greedy for a place on my throne
In theory, Christ’s throne
But it’s become mine

I can almost hear them shouting at me
“Come here, my friend, my devotee!”
So many times I’ve listened to that voice
And let them whisk me into their world
That corrupted world
Of corrupted vanity

They’re almost like vines that climb and invade
They block out the sun; the light shrinks and fades
They form a blanket of thick, choking shadow
The weak are entangled in these evil vines
I’m bound by the vines
That I grew myself

I struggle, I scream, I fight back the darkness
But my breath is snuffed out, and my movement is useless
I feel the hope draining away from my heart
As I think I must have failed in my calling
I hear the Lord calling
Crying out to me

I hear His voice, but He seems so far away
Beneath all the vines that snuff out the day
I yearn to be free and rush to His arms
But the vines only tighten the more I try
“What’s the point?” says I
“I love you,” says God

Upon hearing those words, my heart comes to life
The vines fall away as if slashed with a knife
Tears stream down my face, blood flows through my veins
I’m alive, because of the sovereign God who loves me
He loves me
Like I love Him

His genuine grace, His perfect sacrifice,
His infinite wisdom, they more than suffice
For the searching and hungry and thirsty and lost
Because He is true, He is real, and He is there
He is there
And His love is

My brain is tranquil, my heart is at ease
As God takes my hand and brings me to peace
Joy, light, and peace


S. F. Dekreel discovered the fascinating, exhilarating, and amazing art of storytelling when she was very young, through the invention of the “picture story”: a story almost completely made up of pictures instead of words (as a result, she is now a master at drawing stick people). Now storytelling is among her favorite pastimes. She can tell stories, write stories, draw stories, daydream stories, and even sing stories (although she won’t necessarily do that in public). One may often find her in front of her laptop, contemplating what kind of story she’s going to write today. Usually, as she is doing that, she is also listening to assorted instrumental music on her trusty headphones. When she isn’t storytelling, she is zoning out in front of the computer, smelling books, watching Doctor Who, or trying to decide what hat she is going to wear today.