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The Line


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?

God Has A Little Acre


A poem about how God works on me despite my failed efforts to improve.

God has a little acre

he planted all his own.

My life is His little acre,

where precious seeds are sown.

He removed stones and stick and rubbish

And made it a place where love has grown.

And All is well when he works it,

You see, it is his own.

When God is working in my life

His wonders to full fill.

Plants and pulls and labors,

The stubborn earth he’ll till.

He makes all thing ready for life and growth and joy.

Using all the tool at his pleasure

Some we would never chose to employ.

But when he leaves the garden

For me to tend while he’s gone

It’s seems my life has trouble,

And it doesn’t take very long.

The fences crumble, the weeds thrive.

The vines get limp and brittle.

It seems I’m not much a gardner

When in His garden I fiddle.

So I yeild to Him the vineyard

To do His mighty will.

I confess I made quite a mess

When I try to do His will. q

But soon under His careful hand

The garden grows again.

For to let Him be the gardener in me

Was always His perfect plan.

My Way Didn’t Work


A poem about my futile efforts to have life my way instead of following God’s way.

I’m weary of this emptiness, this futility all my life,

I’m tired of my pursuits vanishing, always out of reach

My life has not worked for me, has been filled with bitter strife,

Because I tried it my way and not the way you teach.

Your way made little sense to me, the logic wasn’t there.

Lord, you know you gave me a mind, One I could use.

So why give me instructions that appeared to be unfair

And commands that are not smart certainly don’t seem fair.

So I tried my way, perfect in logic; well-designed I must say.

With all the might within me, assured I wouldn’t fail.

But my way didn’t work so well, though I was proud of the way.

I fell flat on my face, got up, and landed square on my tail.

I suppose you know the way that would work for your creation.

It should be no surprise that my genius came up so weak.

When you called me in to son-ship, a forgiven child relation,

You told me to love you and make it your kingdom I first seek.

I was falling


My life was ruined. I was falling

Below the surface of the sea

But you came into my life.

It was you who rescued me.

I floundered and I struggled;

I was blind and could not see.

In my stumbling I found you,

But it was you that rescued me.

You sparked the light of life

To help me find my way

With Caring and compassion

You rescued me that day.

My meager thank is not enough;

For one once bound, now free.

To you I give all gratitude,

You were here to rescue me.

Halloween: When You Love a Child

ImageA little monster rang my door bell.

“Can I have some candy please?”

Male or female I could not tell,

Not much higher than my knees.

Reaching into my candy bowl,

I grab some candy for the child.

Four or five pieces, I don’t know.

The little one giggled, free and wild.

I dropped them into a pumpkin pail.

A “thank you” broke the quiet night.

“You’re welcome,” I said, and without fail

Added “Jesus loves you” to the little fright.

“Here is a tract you can have someone read.”

“Oh, thank you again,” came the child’s voice.

“Maybe mom or dad will do the deed,

And read you the story,” I hoped for that choice.

Later that night I completed my treating.

My doorbell rang after much patience was tried.

A young mother with tears I found myself greeting,

A little monster standing by her side.

Holding the tract I had given the child.

She looked to me with hope in her eyes.

I asked, “Will you come on in and visit a while.”

The two stepped right in, to my surprise.

Later that night, I saw the mother pray

For Jesus to love her, cleanse her heart.

God took all her sins and washed them away.

He loved her and gave her a fresh new start.

When all in this life seems ruin and lost.

Everything in the world is dirty, defiled.

A Word from the Father is worth the cost.

And a family can be reached if we love a child.

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