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("The Mystery of God," "The Rubber Room," and "Silent Page")

These three poems were written during an intense period of spiritual warfare in my life. "SILENT PAGE," the last poem in this triptych, was written on January 1, 1998. It's the best New Year's Resolution I've ever made.


The mystery of God is great!
Who can comprehend
The distance from Earth to the Sun;
The space between the stars;
The billions of galaxies--
Blazing, spinning pinwheels of His providence?

I am brought to silence,
Not able to comprehend
The eternal depth of my unworthiness,
The fathomless weakness of my mind,
The infinite evil in my heart
Which longs to let the Holy Spirit go,
Though He's the seal of my salvation
My puny mind can't break.
For Christ has chosen me
And the Holy Spirit makes me shake,
When I take my eyes off Jesus
So I can contemplate
The academics of it all
And end up lost within.

It's all beyond my grasp.
I am but a grain of sand
On an endless seashore,
Longing just to love this infinite, eternal, glorious God
One iota more,
On this long and narrow path
To my Redeemer's Home.



Lord Jesus,
I thank you that
When reality can't make it through
The walls of my brain
And I'm lost in paranoid
Psychological pain,
You haven't changed.
No matter what comes,
You will be faithful to me.
Even if I'm in a rubber room,
You'll share the room with me.

Fear is my enemy;
Doubt makes me sick inside;
Fighting the battle with tools of my own
And my back to Your throne
Explains my losing streak.

Bring me back to the bunker
And refit me with Your armour of faith
So I can fight for You again
And win with Your power.

Even in the rubber room,
You are there with me.
Your love is the most patient
I will ever see.

Yet I hear Your voice thunder,
And a godly fear of You fills me,
As you belt out your order,
"On your knees, soldier!
On your knees, soldier!"


("Let us fix our eyes on
Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith..."
--Hebrews 12:2a {NIV})

Let me be a silent page,
Free from babble,
Free from rage,
Relinquishing my futile mental powers,
Leaving all power to the Sage.

Faith is Jesus' poem,
So I must be a blank page for Him,
Not writing in my mental shenanigans
To supplement His verse.
How can my minute mental minutia
Help the Creator of the universe?
I cannot help;
Who can counsel the Wonderful Counselor?
I can't offer peace to the Prince of Peace
So He can give it back to me.
I cannot explain God to God.
How can I, the king of disgrace,
Set the terms of God's unfathomable grace?
He sets the terms.

Who must I be?
I must be a silent page,
Washed pure white by the red blood of Jesus
(The incomprehensible colours of God's grace),
Washed clean of all my attempts to
Write my own life and a faith based on my own understanding.

Paper can't complain to the Author
For what He writes on it.
Neither can I influence the Poem of Faith
Jesus is writing on my white surface which He purified.
He erased all my futile imaginings from the page;
And on the clean sheet, the page of my life,
The Sage of Sages
Writes a poem in progress.
He has His eraser handy
And will remove any other attempts of mine
To alter His poem.

Jesus is the Poet.
I am but one of His poems in progress.
You may be His poem too,
But we each must be His silent page.
He's the Author and Perfecter of our faith;
It's His pen;
And we are His paper.


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