The Painter, Plumber, Poet, and Preachers

The Painter painted sunsets
His brush a sword unsheathed
That cut the canvas wide with color
And mended hearts with peace
But his studio was silent
His gallery lacked applause
And few people ever bought them
But the glory all was God’s

The Plumber plumbed till sundown
His arms were iron bars
That flexed the chaos into order
And cured many anxious hearts
But his profession won no laurels
His colleagues dreamed of other jobs
And few people ever thanked him
But the glory all was God’s

The Poet penned sweet sonnets
His ink an ocean’s depths
That flooded ships with beauty
And flooded hearts with rest
But his writing desk was cluttered
Each draft was full of flaws
And few people ever read them
But the glory all was God’s

Some preacher preached his sermons
His words a windless storm
That whipped poor sheep with ego
Until those weary hearts were torn
Though his mouth should move a mountain
And the church fill with applause
And many people flock to hear him
Still the glory would be robbed

Another preacher preached a message 
His words a simple flow
That came straight from the Bible 
And poured on hearts so they could grow
Though he often felt unworthy
His soul gazed upon the Cross
No matter who might come to hear him
Still the glory all was God’s

The Prayer of Prosperity

This, then, is how you should not pray:

Our father who lives to please me,
Prosperity be Thy name,
My kingdom come,
My will be done,
On earth as it is in my head.
Give us our days that we might live them for ourselves.
And give us something better than bread
For bread is boring and we would eat it thanklessly.
And forgive us our debts so that we
May sin with clean consciouses against our debtors.
And lead us not into poverty, pain, or discomfort,
But deliver us unto pleasures.
For mine is the Kingdom, and the honor, and the ingratitude
Forever and whatever, amen.

Weeping Now As One Who's Wept With

A spiritual concussion, the wasteland of the soul.
Sweet words has God once spoken. My soul, “Be still and know.”

He plows and I am broken. A harvest He must grow.
This ground His tears will open. My soul, “Be still and know.”

My Jesus once forsaken, to the Cross was made to go.
There too will I walk with Him. My soul, “Be still and know.”

The Lion pads beside me. Though night, never alone.
Awake! Dawn-rivers of His kindness! My soul, “Be still and know.”

His voice this lamb will follow. My life King Jesus holds.
Weeping now as one who’s wept with. My soul, “Be still and know.”