We are all in need of help. But is it the noun or the verb we need?
Woe is me! How can this be?
Where is that help I have sought?
Nothing but wretched know-it-alls
Come to disturb my thought – and my peace.
Peace? What peace?
What am I saying? Who am I trying to kid?
If this is peace then give me war
And I shall rest and sleep and snore.
Time passed on and matters grew worse.
I soon lost all that I had.
My friends had gone their merry old ways,
My family too was gone.
My business failed, uncertainty prevailed;
I slowly began to wrestle with myself
For a change.
What’s this? A knock? A tiny knock?
I haven’t had a knock since that beggar came by!
I wonder who it might be?
Eh? A whimper? A sniffing? A sobbing?
More trouble! Add fuel to the fire!
Is there no rest for the wicked?!
I opened the door and there stood a boy,
One hand over his eyes and one on his knee,
From where trickled blood to my doorstep!
Sir! the lad cried with tear-stained face,
I stumbled and fell just in front of your place.
I have nobody to help me.
Are you a doctor or someone to bind my wound?
Angered at first at the gory mess,
I nearly chased him away.
But though I knew I was only a laborer,
He had flattered me with his question.
Fancy me a doctor!?
“Lad, you have saved your knee,” I thought.
“Oh, very well, come in, come in.
We’ll see what to do with your wound.”
I bound up his leg and sent him away,
Not as friendly as I could have been.
But after all he was a bit of a nuisance
And I did give him some sweets to cheer him.
As I cleaned off my step
I began to think that
Though I was but a common fellow,
Yet he took my help (there was nobody else),
And he went away for the better.
And how was it I helped that little pest?
There was a time I wouldn’t be bothered!
Am I changing somehow or am I going mad?
I actually did him a favor – without charge.
It’s plain to see that though he is hard,
A change is slowly transpiring
A little more time mingled with hope;
Perhaps from evil he is tiring.
These were the words of the Sovereign King
As He spoke to His servant, the boy.
“You were sent to bring good news
And I thank you for your sacrifice.”
Water Does Not Always Find the Lowest Level
Inconsistency and contradiction are facts of life which increase in both stature and clarity as we grow in spiritual maturity. Stature because we are subjected according to our own increasing capacity to withstand these foes and clarity because as we increase, we see more of what has always been there.
Is it not ironic that the fool
Rejects the very thing that would deliver him
From the pain and failure he calls bliss?
Water does not always find the lowest level.
Is it not ironic that those
Who stand in need the most
Stand strongest against provision?
Water does not always find the lowest level.
And those who have less need
Have it because they have learned
The value of the provision
To minimize the need.
"To him who has
Shall more be given,
And to him who has not,
Even the little he has
Shall be taken from him." Jesus
Lethbridge, Oct. 1984
I, The Wealthy Outcast
"Lord, who has believed our report?" cried Isaiah. It is to the sinner a prophet is sent, but sinners do not see nor hear by virtue (or vice) of the fact that they are sinners. The carnal man cannot receive the things of the Spirit. And because they are sinners, they are the ones who need to hear! So then both prophet and perpetrator, both saint and sinner, both herald and hearer learn of the grace of God, without Whom is nothing possible. "Therefore He has mercy on whom He wills, and whom He wills He hardens."
Nobody believes me;
They wince when I speak;
I give them Scriptures;
They give me notions.
They profess to love the Lord
to honor the Scriptures
to walk in righteousness and truth;
They have their own bibles
Of bits and pieces
Tailored to their doctrines
To suit their purposes.
They hate the Light;
They love their gods
And their sins.
God is anathema to them
As He is
So they change the glory of God,
They take His Name,
Giving it to gods of their own liking;
They take His words,
Wresting them to their destructions
With smiling public faces
They deceive themselves, saying,
"We suffer for His sake;
Our reward is stored up
For which we have so labored."
Paupers, laid in the dust,
Naked, diseased, deranged,
Babbling vain repetitions,
Bled bone dry
By the gods they serve,
While I remain wealthy and healthy
Moon River, Oct. 31, 1991
I am mildly surprised as I read these words months after writing them. Mildly, I say, because it isn’t a surprise and yet it is, to see how I have been so down in my hopes, feelings and outlook on things. I marvel somewhat because I know this has happened on many occasions while in between those times I have also felt quite to the contrary, as though the Lord were very much with me and that by Him, nothing was impossible. I have particularly felt the latter way, with full conviction immediately after the Lord has manifest Himself to me in some way, unmistakably. But how soon and how able we are to forget and to be in despair!
The whole world rots before my very eyes.
Blind I am not to its corruption;
Men bide their time in vain travail
Or wait until they have to go.
Suffering and death are everywhere,
Sickness, disease and hell;
Selfishness and greed reign over all;
Each man denies another’s rights.
Hell is on the left, Death is on the right;
Fake religions promise emancipation;
Vain hopes carrot asses everywhere;
The wisest are led by them,
bled by them,
and slain by them.
God is here, God is there, God is everywhere;
There is no truth, no mercy, no compassion,
No righteousness nor justice in this earth.
Men are quick to boast their virtue,
To make a show of goodness,
‘Til they have you where they want you
And slit your throat for what you have
If even so very little.
I see the wickedness and the cruelty,
The deception of every man