Day 130 (Written Friday April 20) ~ Sometimes you don’t need to comment, just let the poetry speak for itself.
“Lord,” I said, “I want to be your man, not my own.
So to you I give my money, my car---even my home.”
Then, smug and content, I relaxed with a smile
And whispered to God, “I bet it’s been a while,
Since anyone has given so much---so freely?”
His answer surprised me. He replied, “Not really.”
“Not a day has gone by since the beginning of time,
That someone hasn’t offered meager nickels and dimes,
Golden altars and crosses, contributions and penance,
Stone monuments and steeples; but why not repentance?
“The money, that statues, the cathedrals you’ve built,
Do you really think I need your offerings of guilt?
What good is money that’s meant only to salve
The hurting conscience that so many of you have?
Your lips know no prayers. Your eyes, no compassion.
But you will go to church (when churchgoing’s in fashion).
Just give me a tear---a heart ready to mold.
And I’ll give you a mission, a message so bold---
That a fire will be stirred where there was only death,
And your heart will be flamed by my life and my breath.”
I stuck my hands in my pockets and kicked at the dirt.
It’s tough to be corrected (I guess my feelings were hurt).
But it was worth the struggle to realize the thought.
That the cross isn’t for sale and Christ’s blood can’t be bought.
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