And That is God—a poem

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Sometimes I don’t understand the little voice in my head.

And that scares me.

I don’t know if it is my hopeful self or the Lord.

I don’t know if I’m doing a good deed out of kindness or necessity.

When I see God, I’m in shock because I live in a world that says He’s not real.

The people of the past probably think this a foolish claim.

Even though I get confused, I know that there are times when it is definitely God. For no human mind is capable of the knowledge and utter awe that fills the body—no servant of Satan, no creature of the flesh would ever conceive such thoughts.

When I close my eyes to pray in the dark, yet I know not what I should say, I cry out to God. Then I shush my stirring, whirling mind and listen. That’s the part most forget. For what good is asking God to speak if we continue to talk over Him?

And when my mind is filled with concerns, memories, pains, dreams, thanksgivings, and requests, some my own and some not, that is when I know he has answered.

Praise be to the Father!

For that is God.

When I see my enemies—those who have hurt me, those I dislike, I have pity on them. I don’t know why. There is a part of me who strives to hate them, yet I cannot.

It was not long ago that I could.

When that happens, I turn to God, perplexed by this strange sense of compassion, an urge to see them saved. There is a part of me that is angry with God because of this.

So I say, “Why have you made my heart tender toward these people?”

He is stern with me at first, then He is disappointed, “You asked for this, my child—to be transformed by my Spirit—made into a new creation by the blood of the Son. I am a gracious God and, therefore, have answered your prayers. Yet you ask for things you do not really want because in order to receive them you must give up everything. Your words betray you! Don’t you remember what I’ve taught you?—‘Those who do not love their brothers and sisters do not love God?’”

And that is the truth. I ask for virtues I do not want because in order to rise, I must let God destroy every wicked and evil thing.

And a part of me is attached to those things.

God says it must happen, that it is the only way to save the soul a slave to sin. He knows it will hurt, as do I. But because He is the God of all comfort, He reassures me, the little servant who apart from Him can do no good, that all must suffer to inherit true life, even the Savior of Man.

And since I said yes, I’ve never been the same.

And what should I ever expect to be?

For that is God.

I have learnt many things, far too many to write down. Those thoughts and lessons would fill books, many books.

Thanks be to God for that wisdom.

My body craves sin and at night, I don’t know how to handle it. There are times when I think it will take me over—these desires. Before I know it, it is morning, and I recall the night’s battle that did not end in tears, but in peace, in rest. How so, I don’t know.

And that’s how I know it is God.

The biggest enemy of the human mind is itself. Its lone savior—the Son.

And that is God.

There are times when conceit fills my veins, but I have barely recognized the feeling before my mind is pulled back, and a stern voice says, “Stop it.”

And that is God. I know that because I don’t want to stop.

Ha saves us because we can’t save ourselves. We are the children who keep running into the streets of sin, and He rescues us over and over because we are too foolish to understand.

When we sin, we ignore it. We bask in the pleasures, then we hear it—a voice that won’t go away—one that we hate: guilt.

We are conflicted, ashamed. We know we have done wrong, yet we enjoy it. We cannot repent because our pride forbids it.

Still God is persistent. The thoughts surround us until we can no longer ignore them. We fall to our knees, crying out for forgiveness, which He so graciously offers.

We are disciplined and ashamed so that sin loosens its grip on us—so that our transgressions will not end in death, but pull us toward God and eternal life.

Because that is the character of God.

There are lots of things I don’t understand (is that a sincere thought, Father?), but there is one thing I know for sure:

Nothing is worth keeping if it pulls us away from God.

Let us give up everything and gain Christ for nothing can compare to Him.

There is not a thing too small or big—not one too stupid or serious.

When the world looks at you and laughs at what you have sacrificed for God, that’s when you know you’ve given up enough, and yet you should give more. After all God is not controlled by the world, but He resides over all creation, wicked and good, and we can pull comfort from that knowledge.

So give up all things! For nothing is worth more!

Satan will trick you. You will proclaim you have given away all things, but in your everyday life, you will find them stashed in drawers and hidden. You will dust them off and pick them up again.

So I say again, “Give up all things!” For nothing can compare to the Father.

And when those things have faded, and you stand still, all you will be left with is a sense of peace and gratitude greater than anything you have ever imagined:

And that is God.

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