A Confession

I recently (today) wrote a spoken word piece dealing with some of the stuff that I've noticed in my life. If you don't know what spoken word is, it's basically a very free-formed version of poetry. Here's an example.

The main thrust behind this poem was basically me seeing all of this sin in my life that I keep returning to like a dog to its vomit. I've just been getting sick of who I am in the flesh and tired of all of the things that weigh me down in my relationship with Christ.

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George

There really wasn't much to say. He sat there cryin' his eyes out in the corner of the loud theater room at camp, and me and my friend just watched, not really knowing what to say. It seemed that the only appropriate thing to do was to ask him if he wanted to pray. He nodded and we walked outside to where we could get some silence and quiet.

George stood there with his head down and just kept bawling. And I'm not talking about some small sniffles and tears. He was crying with all that was in him to cry. To the point that extended past caring what anyone thought about his current condition. In fact, his tears kept him from fully explaining what it was that he was so emotional about. So we prayed. Me, my buddy, and George's leader prayed over George knowing relatively little about what was impacting him so much.

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The Lot of the Righteous

Someone once asked C.S. Lewis, a Christian author, "Why do the righteous suffer?" He replied, "Why not? They're the only ones that can take it."


Suffering for the cause of Christ is a touchy subject, and doesn't receive a whole lot of attention these days from a lot of pulpits. For whatever reason, suffering has become something that would rather be pushed aside for those "radicals."

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