There was a day when I was filled with the excitement of knowing that God is our sufficiency in all things. My mind then turned to the city and what makes a city. I knew that firstly, His rule applies in all things of life and secondly, that the city was void in all areas of His rule and healing power. Furthermore, it was those who were in authority who were supposed to be teaching, directing, leading, delivering but instead were the ones responsible for the corruption and degeneration of the people. Only outside the city but not far away was the remedy, THE Remedy.
Hey, you city dwellers!
Do you see that yonder Light?
He is the Standard of all standards;
He lights the way so you can see…and not stumble.
He is the Walkway to lead you in sure directions
To take you where you need to go.
He is the Grocery Store;
He is your Bread and Butter and all good food,
Without additives…or subtractives;
You’ll find no nourishment elsewhere.
Why are you so gaunt, city dweller?
He is your Post Office;
To Him messages must go
And from Him they will come.
Mail service is timely and free;
Why don’t you pay your postage?
He is the local Drug Store
But for good and not for hurt.
In Him are the leaves
For the healing of the nations.
See that Jewelry Store around the corner
And there you’ll find precious stones
To grace the chest of one who wears them.
No costume jewelry here.
The gold is real, the stones are genuine;
He is not here to deceive.
He is your Clothing Store
To clothe you with clothes that cover and not expose;
To clothe you with decency and humility, city dweller;
To hide your shame.
Why do you pass by? Do you prefer your nakedness?
Drug pusher John, why do you dwell
In the darkest recesses of the alleys?
Are you afraid of the Light Standard?
Why do you betray the people in whose midst you dwell?
There is no hiding from the Light Standard, John.
He shines around corners and even through walls…it only seems to take
A little more time.
Your time is at hand, and how quickly it has come,
Tailored to your needs.
He is the Policeman;
Not a pig but the Lamb;
Not to injure or to trap but to help;
Not to condemn but to deliver.
Gather the rubbish, city dweller.
Clear the streets of its stench.
Throw your waste away which lies up to your waist
Into the receptacles of repentance so that
The Garbage Man may take it away
To the city dump of fire and forgiveness.
Counselors of the dwellers, where are you?
Why is there rubble in your streets?
From where comes the stench of garbage?
Why is the Water cut off and the Power?
Where are you, counselors of the dwellers?
Counseling yourselves in your high places
While the dwellers languish below?
Sewers for water and water for sewers!
Woe to the counselors who don’t know the difference,
And teach from the high places of darkness.
Repair the lines!
Turn away from your own comforts and gains, counselors,
Or you too will be in the garbage truck,
On the way to the fires.
You’ll receive the greater damnation
For the price you’ve exacted at the cost of
Dwellers near and far.
Give them the Pure and Living Water
So that they thirst no more.
Take away their waste
Instead of causing them to consume yours.
They worship you and honor you,
And ask for more of what you give,
Yet go away empty, darkened, hungry and without comfort.
You have what you are after.
Why is not the Light Standard shining?
Why are the streets so dark?
Let the price be paid by those who would have It shine.
Let the streets be seen again, if not for the first time.
And let the way be known;
Let it be obscure no more.
City dweller! There is little time
To rush, to push, to do;
There is a Park where you can go;
Sit down awhile, rest and think.
Where are you going?
What are you doing?
City dweller, why are you here?
Where will it end?
So you make your million. Then what?
Take your ease and enjoy?
Sit awhile longer, city dweller, and think again.
Those who seek their million neither rest nor enjoy.
They have only learned to make their million…
And another…and another.
City dweller, go to the Park; stop and consider for your life…
And consider until you have it.
On the edge of town just up the hill is a gate
With nothing between here and there but refuse.
Clear it out and make your way to that gate…a narrow gate,
Which opens to the City Lodge.
There you’ll find rest and food and comfort
And the Light Standard inside.
Lethbridge, Aug 14, 1984
English - Dutch 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 mag...
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....
The world celebrates many things in many ways. It lives for good times and pleasures. Yet it has no good cause to rejoice because it excludes its Maker in its festivities, even when it celebrates in His Name. It also remains in darkness and bondage even while trying to act otherwise. The pilgrim, that lone spiritual wanderer looks on, waiting for the day when he or she can trade in the sorrow and suffering, the loneliness and uncertainties, at best the mediocre satisfactions in this world s existence for great and true celebration. My friend, there is that place, that time, yes, here as well as there, which is here. This is the Day of the Lord. Jubilee occurs on the Day of Atonement, the tenth day of the seventh month, once every fifty years. I wrote this seven years before experiencing the Jubilee. One is brought into it in the fulness of time. Jubilee, oh Jubilee! The day declares the captive free, Delivered from the enemy, Glory bestowed for all to see; Oh, blessed Day of Jubilee! Loss, defeat and misery, Death and Hell had been for me And tears prevented me to see That one day there'd be Jubilee; Oh, blessed Day of Jubilee! The road beyond what eye can see Is littered with corpse and tragedy But trust the Lord and you will be At journey's end with ecstasy; Oh, blessed Day of Jubilee! Moon River Estates, Jan. 1993