A poem about the point at which I stop representing God and represent my own interest.
The line, I would deny, or try, the reason why?
I could cry to know the presence of the line.
A line is a decision, or a point at which one decides.
But this one, seen only by God, is painful to define.
In Peru a line represented poverty or prosperity.
In San Antonio, Travis offered bravery or retreat.
But as Jesus bowed beside the prostitute,
What did His line of sand relate or repeat?
Men of renown, noble, reputed, now shamefully
Slink away in the light of day at what the granules say.
Brave hearts melt as guilt will pelt their hearts.
Cold callused characters, revealed in light of holiness
Not to return to burn a sinner, each one departs.
His line in the sand was drawn to stand for mercy.
It condemned only the condemning and religious pride.
The room was vacated; the woman was elated to see
No accusers remained. Only the Savior was by her side.
But not so with me. Not with my line. I must know
That this line will show, not my freedom from shame
But at which point, only as God sees, do I begin
To represent me and not represent His name.
What trial causes my mind to turn from ambassador
To defendant; from representative to protecting what is mine?
What temptation lures me from loving Him most,
Sending my heart in the foray of free falling decline?
What possession do I seek when my values vulgarize,
Worthless and void compared to His virtue and prize.
What judgment do I make, to take pride in my mind,
Congratulating my wisdom of earthly methods to rationalize.
What trial, which test, which anger, which lust, what offense
Causes me to lay down His assignment and commission
To take up my cause, to pause in His path, to turn
To my interest, my estate, my desired addition.
When God looks at me, He sees my line as ever-present.
Perpetually before His view, with His desire to move
The line, to more deeply define my commitment, my passion,
So He sends my challenges, offenses and trials to reveal
My line, my passion to restore, my commitment to prove.
I fail when I cease from represent Him, resorting to my own interests,
When I seek the blessing instead of the testing of dedication.
Do I battle for me, to be free of His hand and forget
I am called to represent His Church, His Kingdom, His salvation?
Where is my line? He will show me through wars,
And while I struggle, battle, in the strive to survive, the hope to revive,
I will see my line and its location. That’s my line. Where’s yours?