Just A Catalyst.

This is just a rough draft. Whether I ever work on it again or not, eh.

Were I blind, my ears would have heard nothing from you to speak of Christ's Grace.
Were I deaf, my eyes would have seen nothing of Christ's love in your deeds.
Whether word or deed, I don't see Christ in you.
But I am not blind; I am not deaf, I see and I hear all your hate and all your whisperings.
And though you claim Christ, your deeds make lies of your claims.
But even a dumb rock can be a catalyst to the Almighty's testimony
For in your harsh words and diabolic deeds, my dear bride has been a portrait
Of her Savior, suffering your incourtesies and returning grace;
Enduring your impurity and offering love that truly is without condition.
Would I could be so meek and bold! But one truth bars me.
You claim my Christ, yet profane His name by your very interactions.
That I cannot forebear. It sickens me; it makes the bile rise in my throat
To think that deeds like yours will be the only Christ some will ever see.
Were I those sad souls, gladly would I chose damnation over such a false, pretentious hope.
But praise be that I am not them! My precious darling, in her every interaction with you
Is a constant reminder of the Grace that Abode with us.
And while my anger calls for burning justice, she stands and intercedes for you.
So, if you ever do give thanks, give praise to God that you were used of Him as a catalyst.
If you ever speak of grace, plea for it in earnest. Like all souls eternal, there is much need of it.
But woe to you who give my bride sorrow. Her intercession is all that stays me.

Musing

He was faced with a bitter choice; fight, fly, or freeze. He couldn't fly, and he didn't freeze. And men of God condemned him for his choice.
Is he so low that he should allow himself to be battered? Is God's shepherd so high that he may declare such violence as God's will?
No one else makes such a declamation. They understand.
He cries:
Lord, why can't Your people understand? I want to be in your house. I want to feel Christian love. But every time I try, all I hear are that minister's damning words. And I wonder if any shepherd could ever see me as anything but an animal you must not corner. A beast, a demon, a bomb.
This man just wants to go his way. Maybe be loved, be held by a sweet someone who doesn't mind his pain, his scars. He doesn't wish for wealth or fame. He just wants to live, to love, and have someone who views him the same.
He's tired of viewing others suspiciously. He is tired of wondering if they will force him to choose to fight, fly, or freeze.
He just wants a place he can worship and a woman he can trust. He's buried his heart so deep, and no one wants to dig it up. And that truth is killing him.
Where are the Christians for him?
Not knocking on his door. Not inviting him to come to church with them. He won't come to any general invitation. Life has wounded him to the point he must be coaxed, like a wounded animal, gently, slowly. And like a wounded hawk loves and is loyal to his healer, so will he be. Who will reach him, Christian? Or will he be lost to the void?