The Concerted Search

This thing never ends

And I have a responsibility.

Waking in this hotel room

Well into days of business.

The dream was filled with awe

And forewarning.

A place without shafts of sunlight

Without singing of birds

Or laughter of very small children

All pink and perfect.

Undercurrents of grief

Of abandonment

On a road irreversible.

Hopelessness beyond words

Or circumstance.

And not about to end.

No babies. No new Life.

No happy families.

The manger Child

Came into view.

And the bowing of all

Eastern wisdom before Him.

The happy noises

Of the carpenter shop

And a Father’s focused coaching.

The wanderings of hillside

And meadow and marketplace.

Heaven’s touch constantly

Brought to His mind.

The browsing of sacred scrolls

And emergence of the Mission.

Seeking, hurting people

Relieved at side of Lake

By His simple touch or message.

Power figures

Recoiling and hissing.

Their bankruptcy exposed

And games of sin manipulation.

(Sunday school images all.)

The rest followed quickly:

The debates, the treachery,

The cowardly arrest

The ridiculous trials

And postures.

And a crowd turned animal

As if a single unit

Beneath the bleeding

And beseeching of

The One Good Man.

Cross-bound…

In that mutinous unit

I saw myself

Howling like the rest.

Disgusted at the sufferings.

Not knowing their import.

Until His gaze fell upon me.

Not condemning, but reassuring

That I could do better.

Would do better.

There was still time.

I awoke.

One full minute before

The front desk’s calling.

I reached out.

The bedside drawer held

One of those Gideon Bibles.

A concerted search

Had been birthed

Out of merciful terror

And longing.

I would become

That New Creation.

In Christ.

The greatest of businesses

Now very clear.

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