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Rated: E · Poetry · Spiritual · #2154952
This is a conversation version of me and God when I found out I was called to be a Pastor.
At times look at the world with envy.
Because they can go about their lives with a free spirit.
Their concern for life is minimal,
Causing the absence of truth to cloud their awareness of reality.
A reality that his nail pierced hands can extricate you from perpetual sorrow,
Blossoming you into a beacon of truth.
But still society chooses to hold on to the lie that few can let go of,
That only few can see.

But can this lie hold me any better than the tomb that my God walked from?
The creator of all manner and substance, God!
Are you listening?
Am I speaking merely to just these walls when I pray?
Speak to me, so that I can know that my patience for overloading animosity
is not without purpose!
So that me and Moses do not ask the same questions of "Who am I?"
To pick up a staff and rod and lead your sheep into your joyous land of milk
and honey, or "What shall I say?"
Your revelation of salvation are jewels on a holy necklace, that I know they
will refuse to put on, Lord help me!

These eyes filled with pain are masked by the mask of a smile!
Concealed by the silence that only the dead can hear!
And ingrained into the blueprint of my testimony!
God are you listening!

My child, my child.
Why are you questioning me?
Everything that I've told you was truth, so why are you fill with skepticism?
There's no room for envy in the heart of the righteous.
Your envy stems from your isolation.
But you are separate because your value is incomprehensible to the intellects
of this world.
So why are you questioning me?

You understand the reality of my sacrifice.
That my nail pierced hands are holes that signal hope
and the call to salvation.
But still your fear.

Your fear that they will laugh at the way that you bleed for me!
Your fear that they will scorn you out of their classroom
and sheer you out of their courtrooms!
But you ask "Who are you?"
You are child of the living God who I've called to lead.
Who I've given the same staff and rod to that I gave to Moses when
I told him "I will be with thee."

I hear the sincerity of your words every time you pray!
But you don't recognize my answer!
My words are my vowels, remember we are married!
For better or for worst, through sickness and in health,
through faith and through questions, 'til death bring us closer you are mine!
So I dare you to ask me again.
Are you listening?
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2154952