Print Friendly, PDF & Email

A New Creation

To his dying day, my father refused to believe me and could not and would not understand that what had been done in me by God made an irreconcilable difference between him and me not only in terms of thought and way of life but very nature.

He lingered for the old Victor he was once the father of, not willing to accept that I had died. He went to his grave lingering at mine. If only he had desired not the grave for the two of us but the resurrection. What man in his right mind would trade the skies and birds for the underground and worms? So, in all sadness, I turned my back on him, but do not regret it, no, not for a moment.

You linger at my grave, longing for your son;

I’ve left the darkness for the light and what is done is done.

The change in me is not perceived by frail human sight

And so you think that I am wrong and you are surely right.

 

Reason fails to comprehend the things in my new life;

Explanations will not do, they only lead to strife.

People, habits, memories call but I’ve traded old for new;

I’ve traded all that’s bad and false for all that’s good and true.

 

I’m a stranger in this world whom you have never met;

I’ve only kept this outer shell on which your hearts are set.

My life is hid in Jesus Christ; believe me you will not;

Your hearts are very hard and cold, for truth you have not sought.

 

I’d rather walk on foreign soil than to this evil world be loyal,

And trade the rags of dirt and toil for robes magnificent and royal.

Kingly blood flows through my veins as I am led down holy lanes;

I’ve left the world of sorrow and pains, and climb the heights for greater gains.

 

Some day I know I will return for others who will come

And each man will, in his own time, ’til all are in the sum.

Great and glorious will be the day when all men drop the sword

And raise their hands in harmony to praise our mighty Lord.

Dauphin, 1978, 79

Related posts:

The Rest of God
I once thought I had entered rest when I was first converted…and I had! Compared to the former horrible state of darkness and misery, the realm of repentance was glorious and restful indeed. But I had not arrived. Then came trials, urgings and purgings leading to the receiving of God’s Spirit. Again, the realm of the Spirit was glorious compared to the one of repentance, and I rested because revelations came and great burdens were lifted and removed forever. But I had not arrived. Chapters opened and closed and rest came at the end of each, yet beginnings introduced new fires, new terms of correction and purgings so that I could rest some more. But I had not arrived. Then came a breaking at the hands of dark men. Healings poured in. Sight was increased and lifestyle corrected. We were blessed and we rested. But we had not arrived. Years later, I wrote this paragraph after just having the severest trial I had ever had, likened by the Lord to that which Job had, yet alerted to the great contrast to his. (Job’s was classical, for our sakes). But I was taken right back to my very foundation and was now different than before. Years passed again and I found that I knew neither rest nor fires like they could be. In fire, I, again more than ever, writhed in pain. Rest comes in small doses and brief intervals, only to prepare one for more fire. (He that walks with God, walks in fire, until there is no more need of fire.) Today, God is all in all. Those who enter into rest not on...
The Wild
The terrible battle to be fought by the seeker of God is against unbelief. One moment, we can be so full of belief, of joy and excitement, assurance and boldness. Then, as little as it takes to slam a door, so quickly and surely have saints of God known the onslaught of unbelief in all its terrible power. Our fight is the fight of faith. Our faith is the victory. Nor is it a faith concocted, a matter of will power. It is rather, a surrender to God, an acceptance of things as they are, an acknowledgment of things as they are and entrusting them entirely out of our control to His. Thus we come out of our valleys, our clouds of darkness and into the light. Wave after wave, Billow after billow, No rest, no peace, except for a time, A short time, a breather so to speak, From the unrelenting pressures which increase. Darkness all around us, Blind alleys at every turn, Clouds obscure the light of day And leave us damp and cold. When will we be free? When will the storm cease? Has it no end? Has it no bounds? Can we go on with our hopes Dashed to pieces at every turn, Like cardboard huts in a hurricane? Is it sin in our lives that causes this state? Is the wrath of God kindled against us? Have we no hope, no reason to expect An end to intermittent turmoil? “There is no peace to the wicked,” the Scriptures say, Yet we have searched and searched ourselves again. And though we know that in our flesh dwells no good thing, We still find ourselves without an answer....
Ode to a Harlot
I was hurt by a vain professor of righteousness. Of that person I saw a vision. She was like her kind and her kind like her - light, treacherous, full of lust and hypocrisies. So are all those who "go to church" and think they do God a service.
Subscribe
Notify of
guest
0 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments

Provide your email if you would like to receive periodic correspondence from us.



0
You can leave a comment herex
()
x