Two hours of prayer. Two hours of listening to God speak. Unfortunately that doesn't happen very often in my life, but recently my husband, daughter, and I were privileged to have that consecrated time in the prayer room at the International House of Prayer in Kansas City.
Quiet time leads to inspiration. God gave me a poem, a creativity that rarely travels my way. So this one is for all of you poets out there. Try not to laugh, OK?
"Go!" the Holy One of Heaven,
looking at His son, said.
Messiah King nodded,
descending in both joy and dread.
Thunder roared. Lightening raged.
Angelic host applauded.
A star glowed over Bethlehem,
highlighting the newborn's straw bed.
Wondering why a king seemed so frail,
shepherds and wise men followed where led.
Growing up a carpenter's son,
but in God's Word, Jesus continually read.
Crowds gathered in dire need.
The blind saw, the hungry were fed.
Focused on the cross,
Jesus to Jerusalem was headed.
Stretched out, crying out,
the Christ to Abba Father plead.
"Let this cup pass from me!
Not my will, but yours instead."
Between two thieves,
he hung in death and bled.
Buried in a rich man's cave,
he soon left the linens and fled.
"Go! Make disciples. Baptize them.
teaching them to obey everything I've commanded."
"I am with you always, to the very end of the age"
the risen Savior said.
For More Christian Poetry. . .
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