There is not a name lovelier than His

Not a song unworthy of Him to sing

He is the antidote from the world’s sting

Who else could be the loveliest?

There is none by which my soul can be pleased

Not one whose life was laid down for me

For I know he is lovely
The loveliest of them all

I run from the darkness

For me, it wants to consume

                 “Be tougher.” They say

How long can I harness

All of this gloom

Until they realize

                     I’m not that tough.

My name is Nigel and I’m from cigarettes and burnt dreams.

I’m from roads that wind and twist with dirt and holes
and everyone forgets where they were going.

I’m from wooden pews and raspy hymns.
I’m from choirs who sing like velvet and dance like they’re hunting joy. 

I’m from love that suffocates and 
brokenness that feels too familiar. 

I’m from addiction and jailhouses. 
Addiction and jailhouses.
Addiction and jail-

I’m from people who lived in paradise
and threw it away for some knowledge

I’m from sin that consumes
and hate that calls itself love. 

I’m from pain and sorrow 
Crying transformed into laughter
Joy that takes the breath away.

I’m from the One
Who turns orphans into sons

Who flips tables
and calls sinners, friends. 

I’m from an upside-down love
An unusual kind of beauty 
A rose risen in ash
A flower matured in flames. 

My name is Nigel

and I’m from Melissa and Calvin.

I'm from South Carolina roads and
Baptist church pews

And,

I’m from the son of God
Jesus.

Today is Mother’s Day. On days like today, I think of my mom, who for most of my life was a single parent. I think of many mornings, when I caught her on her knees praying for my brother and me. I think of the times she would make meals for my friends and me. I think about the time when I was a teenager and said, “I didn’t know if I could trust God.” With love and conviction, she told me, “God is the only one you can trust.”

I love and honor my mom on this day. And yet, for many on a day like Mother’s Day, it can be extremely hard for you. We want to recognize that today.

Today may be hard for you because some of you here have lost your mom. Some of you have lost children to different circumstances. Some women here long to be mothers, but are not yet. Some of you are simply trying to be daughters of the living God and to figure out your place in the world. Lastly, we also recognize that some moms and children are walking journeys shaped by both grief and joy—through fostering, adoption, and other relationships that are beautiful gifts, even though they began in trauma.

I want to speak to every woman and say that you are a daughter of God, and He is pleased with you.

I want to speak this truth of God over every woman here today:

“The Lord will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.” - Isaiah 58:11

Prayer: Thank you, Lord, that you created each woman in your image, blessed her, and desire that they walk in a deep and personal relationship with you. Remind every woman today that they are significant to the Kingdom of God because they belong to you, daughters of the King. Show them how pleased you are with them. In Jesus name, Amen.

Have I learned
to pause
and consider
all You’ve said?

Have I learned
to reflect
what You’ve shown me
so I might capture
all You’ve said?

Have I learned
to lift my praise
as the mirror to Your goodness,
the radiance
and resonance for
all You’ve said?

Have I learned
that listening to You
is the greatest praise,
the obedience you love,
and the highest
form of worship
for all You’ve spoken?

For those who don’t know, scholars have several theories for understanding the word “Selah.”

However, the theory I think is most applicable is that Selah means to pause and consider what you just sang, read, or prayed. The beautiful thing about Selah is that it reminds us that pausing is valuable to our worship of God. It’s about taking the time to slow down and truly consider all of who God is and all that God has done.

I wrote this poem as a reflection of my own prayer time and pausing.

Have you paused and reflected on God’s goodness lately? What does that look like?

Come all who struggle
All whose faith is wavering
Come to the promise
Of the One who’s never changing.

Come, heavy-hearted
Wearing it for all to see
Come to the One
Who’s promised to never leave.

Jesus is faithful
Joyful and
Triumphant

He invites all who need his comfort.
Is shame your mantle?

Has your strength grown weary?
Has your heart become weak and needy?

Then, come with nothing
Bearing only the truth.
He’s born for the old and gray
Children and youth.

Come to the Son
Born in a manger
He invites the sick,
Enemy and stranger.

Jesus is faithful
Joyful
Triumphant

He invites you to enjoy his comfort.
Is shame your mantle?

Has your strength grown weary?
Come to the One who loves the needy.

Such a desirable hobby
One that steals my time 
How I abhor this act- 
So I’ll trap it with a rhyme

You destroy my self-confidence
And leave me hiding in shame 
My soul is shattered like brittle glass 
It will never be the same 

Read more

The apparent truth is 
I will die one day 
My sins will be paid 

I will walk in Heaven
hopefully 
Like an innocent deer. 

One day 
I will learn to face 
My prevalent fears 

I will die one day 
And when that day comes- 
I will be ready 

Another apparent truth is 
I love, and when I love
I love hard. 

I probably love too densely. 
Maybe I take things too far. 
But, when I love I like to show how it’s true. 

I will love from the outside
 to the person’s 
deepest roots. 

I will love wholly 
and one day 
I will acquire the love that I’ve been giving.

Buy Truths (My Debut Poetry Book)

Loving you wholly is like 
Taking the time to admire flowers
The task seems too tedious
It would be much easier to pull weeds 

than to nurture a garden

Buy my book of poetry, Truths

The apparent truth is that the main way to process my grief, 
To see the light of joy, 
Or sit in the depths of my depression 
Is to write poetry. 

And so, my emotions become rhyme schemes, 
My stories become stanzas 
And my truths become power.
These truths 

Become a force 
Too powerful to wield 
Alone. In other words
I will carry this power 

Like a knight’s sword 
To direct those who read it to a purpose. 
To know that their words carry 
healing and pain. 

These truths 
Will be my shield, and my armor. 
It will be my sword. 
My protection and weapon of choice.

How different would life be 
if I prayed with open hands 
instead of closed fists? 
For ten minutes, I silently 
pray a monologue and I
wonder why God hasn’t 
answered me. 
Can he speak 
over the constant 
hum of my voice? 
Can I listen past 
the screams of 
my fears?

What is repentance? To repent literally means to “change one’s mind.” It means to turn away from what you were once doing and do what God says to do.

In Scripture, we see countless stories of repentance. God’s people are constantly caught in sin and are in need to turn back to God. The Bible provides a roadmap for connecting with our heavenly Father. And it’s only when we resist repentance that we are disconnecting from Him. One of the major prophets in the Bible who needed to repent was Jonah.

When Jonah first received the call from the Lord to go to Nineveh and tell them that destruction was coming from the Lord, he rejected it, and he rebelled against God. He ran away from God!

Now, Scripture doesn’t necessarily tell us why Jonah disobeyed God. It could have been because he didn’t want Nineveh to have an opportunity to be saved. Maybe he feared for his life. Either way, none of those were good excuses for Jonah to disobey God.

Read more

You are strong for others
while under your cloak 
you simply crumble.

Your frame, chipped away 
at every “how are you” 
and “are you ok?”

Yet, you keep showing up 
until the crumbs from your frame 
become too much weight to carry.

When will your strength stop 
being measured by saving others
and be weighed upon simply

existing?

A transcendent soul

crafted by a perfect God-

The author of love.

I don’t want to be lukewarm.

I want to burn with a fire that can scold the devil’s tongue.

I want to burn brighter than the hottest sun.

I want to burn longer than the burning bush.

I want to burn hot.

Hotter than Monday morning coffee. You know the kind

The kind you pour to get you through the day. The kind you pour that helps you deal with Lisa and Joe, or Jamez and LeToya. 

I want to burn like that coffee.

I want to burn for you

Lord.

But naturally, I’m more like other coffee. Coffee that, when poured, was hot but has now sat out for too long. Doing nothing.

Coffee that has lost its steam.

Coffee that, when you sip, does not taste the same.

It’s lost its flavor with its heat.

I don’t want to be lukewarm.

But do I love you, Lord?

Do I love you like a son would love his mother?

Running into her arms every time he wounds himself.

Or, do I love this world like a dog would love his vomit?

Engulfing its contents, like he forgot, it does not taste good.

Maybe I should stick to being cold. At least the biggest trend in America is iced coffee. At least that’s what I’m used to. At least

I do that well.

I could learn to be hot.

I should burn hotter than Anglo-Saxons on Florida beaches.

I should burn brighter than the sun,

but even the hottest suns burn out at some point.

And even the hottest coffee starts to get cold.

I don’t want to be lukewarm.

Lukewarm coffee never tastes good.

And it always gets spewed out of your mouth.

I have been writing poetry since elementary school. The first poem I wrote was to a girl I had a crush on. My mom helped me write it. This was also my first experience with love unrequited. Talk about fuel for more poetry!

I love writing poetry because I love challenging my readers to think about things in metaphors. Instead of just saying, she is so beautiful, I could say;

Read more

What I dread the most is not the idea of being in hell on earth
It’s not having my arm shattered into a million little pieces
It’s not my breath being drawn so forcefully

That the only people who hear me are the ones who make sure I’m dead

What makes sleep lost to me 
Is the possibility that I may be holy and 
Give my blood to those who have none

Bearing marks on my flesh for the ones who cannot carry their scars

Yet, I would leave this world the way my mother bore me: 
Naked, afraid, and screaming until my lungs burst for someone to hear me. 
Actually, what I dread the most

Is truly being alone.

The Sorrow of Jesus