Up in arms

DisclaimerThese are not song reviews. They are articles birthed from hours meditating on the spiritual and scriptural truths contained in Hillsong Tracks. You will listen to the same tracks and get totally different interpretations but the beauty of it is that Christ is revealed. Click here to Enjoy other Tracks in the project

Track 9: Up In Arms (Requested by Ogundolapo Bimpe)

A reckless love too wild to understand. Breathing the world to life in Your romance

So here I am. Your love has got me up in arms again. And this hope won’t let me go. My joy is boundless. My soul knows its worth. In arms stretching wider. Than my heart could ever fall. Your word is final. Your Name above all. The cross my reminder. Your love is forever

You own the skies and still You want my heart. Casting Your throne aside to lift me up. Here I am
Jesus take my life and all I have
Now this hope won’t let me go

At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” – Luke 8

This is for the broken,

The young lady cowering in the corner – Caught in the act

Angry eyes burning her up like a sauna

With a rivulet of tears flooding her cornea

She cries help me, I am lost – I am just a little child

For the little girl with arms outstretched in the streets

Tramping with no home to rest her throbbing feet

For the lady hard-pressed for change

In her rags she walks in the howling storms

To onlookers she is deranged…

I write as with the flurry of a painter’s brush

For the son whose canvas has been marred by pain

Whose eyes is plagued by sin that he doesn’t see the sun

For the lonely soul that walks the darkened path

And whose highest hope is a wretched work of art

For Mr. Tomfool – “baa, baa, black sheep” shorn of his own wool

The prodigal son, wandering wastrel, foremost fool

For the days gone by were spent in revelry and fame

But now his pouch of coins is barren, a desert of shame

For the eggs of ego are shattered by time

and Families and friendships BEE stung by lust and pride


  I write for those bruised beyond repair

In the marketplace and city halls,

Pastors who mount bankrupt altars

Bankers and merchants with eyes coloured greed

Those with Broken hearts and calloused hands

Who have nowhere to turn nor the strength any more to run

For the battered woman in the alleyway

Whose dreams and hopes have all gone awry

I write this for Orpah who turned her back to return home

even for Ruth who is still saying where you go I will go


I write this to all who know that they are broken

Because their life paints a fragmented portrait  

For those who dwell in Hotel Oblivion – Five star

With scars masked as smiles and fear framed as fortitude

To my sister whose dreams were torn from her

As her legs were pried apart

For even that damsel faced with the fear of tomorrow

Fraught with despair, tethered to the whims of a crass lover

She courts sin though he is obese, obtuse and obstinate

Let us not forget the beleaguered knight now clothed in drab garb of disgrace

For he bartered his destiny for a bottle of gin


I write for those turned away by the church

not dressed right, not giving right, not cool enough

the widow with her mite, the leper with no might

I write for those tossed aside by the world

not smart enough, flat-footed, big-bellied, warts all over the face

for those left in the gully of despair: life’s deepest ditch

because of the bastard, the beggar and the “bitch”

for the haggard old eccentric and the witch

I write for those blinded by the not-so-fresh prince of the air

whose cornea is darkness’ pupil

I write this because He takes our aches and ashes

My pen burns with passion for he bore our pain and lashes

All our brokenness was forged into a crown of thorns

And with this was the King of Heaven’s head adorned

I write this because with bloodied hands he writes a story

In the dust and sand, he takes all gore and gives us glory

“I do not condemn you”

He writes …

Though our sins were smelted into steel spikes,

Shaped by hatred and driven into the carpenter’s hands

He opens those same arms wide in spite of our filth

And gives us peace of mind in place of our guilt


I write this because He rose again

because HE broke death’s gate and trounced the grave 

and though we might be born abandoned, broken and cursed

He was crushed in the crucible so that we might receive His grace

So come boldly to the throne – in His arms

For this kind of Love doesn’t mask our scars like mascara

 He is made unto us a sweet smelling fragrance

a beautiful love song that wakes us from hell’s trance

in his arms we find we are  light-footed and ready for the dance

for Love on the cross gave all men another chance

So to the wounded, wayward and wilful wanderer 

Your pain BECOMES history when you realize that on the cross

He made it His Story… 


Thank you for reading.  Your comments are deeply and highly appreciated. Later today I will be posting THE BOOK OF DAMILARE. Wanna find out? Stay tuned.

Petroleum engineer? Yup. But I love writing as much as I love solving complex reservoir engineering problems. Watch out for poetry. Still trying to soar the heights of prose tho' Stay tuned dearies.

16 thoughts on “Up in arms

  1. I have nothing more to say. I’m Up in (His) Arms. Where else could I be? What more could the world ask for? How much more satisfied can we all, broken or strong, be outside of Christ? In Him alone we live and can ever amount to anything meaningful.


  2. i dont usually comment but dare…dis is special… im just blown away nd short of words… he hung on d cross wit d thoughts of a glorious me overwhelming his heart… God bless ur wisdom


  3. Waxing poetic about the dark
    You could sing forever like a lark
    99 to 1 you see yourself His enemy
    At best a fan
    At worst forgiven
    How I wish to hear you cheer
    Sing these songs as if birthed of life
    How does a strong man appear?
    How do pure saints purr?
    One thing at His feet
    Dripping with admiration
    Another to be His Brother
    Sing as if He sang
    Sing as if He sang


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