Famine of God’s Revelation

Hearts harden under dull ears
And dim eyes
The eyes and the ears are purposed
To explore the very nature of God
Visible to us and audible to us
During this short life we have on earth.

“The eye is never satisfied with seeing”
“Nor the ear with hearing.”
“Rivers running endless to the sea,” the preacher says.
So how can our eyes and ears adequately explore
This very nature of God visible to us
Even though it is spiritual eternity in pragmatic time?

Well, perhaps one way is to avoid the trap
Of the insatiability of the eye.
The eye in our technological society
Has more than enough to see in picture and video
The ears are deafened by the machinistic murmurings
Of everything man has made incessantly drumming.

And somewhere the simplicity of God’s nature
Is lost to a thick and overpowering web of Man’s devices
Noise and flash,
Song and dance,
Light and music—
Are not all of these things the diet of our eyes and ears?

A famine! A Great famine! Devestating and ruthless!
Storm-forced winds tear away all peaceful stillness
The glaring desert sun scorches the bare ground.
The rain is not permitted enough time to gather
The ground is cracked and dry.
The seeds within wait to be sprouted by just one word from the Lord.

A single drop of His truth
To cool the burning thirst of our souls—
A quiet whispered hush
In which veracity can settle—
One candle in the darkness
When all pseudo-lights are extinguished.

Pray the Lord of the Harvest
Send the rain that brings real life.
Clear the ground of its towers of Babel.
Let the eyes close in sleep and wait til morning.
And then, once you’ve tasted of the voice of Heaven.
Do not forget He who speaks and shows Himself to you every day
“Seek the Lord while He may be found, and call on Him while He is near.”

I’ve Glimpsed Him. (Poem)

It takes faith to believe that God is.
Once you have this, you can see him.
I do not promise that you will
Because He must decide to reveal Himself.
It takes a pure heart, with no guile.
Some believe that this is impossible,
But all things are possible with God.
How will you recognize him?
You won’t be able to ignore.
No more than a stick can ignore an all consuming flame.

How did I see Him?
I waited.
He spoke.
I looked.
He stood.
I bowed.
He is.

Music purged my heart of unexpressed filth.
Writing arranged my thoughts according to biblical specification.
Love set my heart on fire for another.
Joy surged in my creative freedom and pleasure of wisdom.
Peace quieted me in His approval.
Translation laid sticks of explosive dynamite end to end.
The Holy Spirit’s voice was the match.
The prizing and valuing of His own personal being.
And Jesus the Living one of all my life came.

T. Austin-Sparks~ “God’s answer to strengthen His people for Suffering.”
Is a new unveiling of the glory of the person of Jesus Christ.”

“What is the answer?
A new grasp of His greatness
That’s all.
And then if we are suffering
If we are knowing adversity, trial
And the clouds seem to be gathering, Accumulating, increasing.
How will we get through?
Only thus: by this:
Getting away
And asking
And seeking
And pursuing
In prayer
A new heart revelation–unveiling
of Jesus Christ.
And I am sure that will do it.
God give it to you.”
~T. Austin Sparks

 

The Effect of Finishing MYST IV Revelation on My Conscience

What rumblings wrestle within me?
Ah yes, that game MYST IV Revelations
Such a striking contrast
Between the simple and good
And the deep and deceptive.

Long ago I played the game
And my heart was hamstrung by the kidnapping of dear Yeesha
But my affection for the Atrus character
Doubled over me with an effort to get the girl back.

These games are precious treasures of character.
They shiver the mind’s analyses down to the spinal column of our own choices
Shaking the branches to the trunk
To see what hart it holds within.

But when the spirits got involved
When invitations into darkness of unguarded dream awoke
When the so-called guide to truth in the spirit world spoke
I felt deeply quinged by the unstructured whim of another.

And I heard The Holy Spirit bid me to destroy what I could not truly love.
For I had chosen to love Him fully and not disown Him.
I cracked the DVD in half,
Mid-story
Mid-heart-throb
Mid-sob of relinquishing a soul’s investment.
And my sister who gave it me as a gift was deeply offended.

The years passed, and the story remained undeveloped in my spirit.
I had to know what happened to Yeesha,
How would the seed bear fruit that was good?
Could I trust the word of amulets worn around the neck of the unseen?

And so today, at last, I took up the card that said, “It’s only a game.”
And stared through the safely distant lenses of a player who walked through the game for me.
With eyes unveiled at last, and puzzles solved clear and fast
I came to the moment of decision.
My own weak heart could not have released me to do what was right.
Indeed even now, I stare at the screen typing this poem
Where once little Yeesha was imprisoned in a chair
Her memories being parasite-d away.

Hope, what a game you gave me.
It ended well, and a bit unsatisfactorily.
I wanted to rescue Yeesha myself,
But I could not see the danger
Unless the one other than He who truly is:
The shadow cast by a human imagination turning his back on God
Had come and shown me the answer.
Boo hiss you Serpent seductive.

And now my spirit crawls on all fours
A dry and thirsty land is the world when your own mouth consumes dust.
The conscience once guarded, and the heart never satisfied.
What a price to pay for the instigation out of innocence!
That one or the other must remain un-met, un-kept, or un-sung.

But nay, mine eyes were too weak to see His light, back then.
I was young, and filled with all the vigor of beautiful sights
Of which this game was full and rich.
And My heart, being trusting so fully as it was
Trusted in the inherent goodness of what was before me.
But now I know better.

The music of adulthood, has been tuned to a deeper fundamental
Than games that are of the devil, or cares that were superficial.
But now, I see the love of humanity,
And how we are meant to reflect our father and creator well.

How frightful the effect still was on my conscience.
Spiritual vomit seemed the only recourse.
And the past cannot be made different in the present.
But the past that belongs to God can be reshaped so as to better situate the present.

And the profoundness of the lessons of hope
And of the power of life to convert the soul
While the conversion of our souls for power will end in death.
But still, some depths are not to be plummeted
Unless they are in the bosom of the father.

I am resting now. Such a journey was not a waste.
But I bid all who wander there, tread with care.
If the spirit and the bride say come
Then come, and do not go the wedding of a corpse.