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God’s Venue

This white page
Is sacred. It is
Holy ground.

It is a place I must come to
In worship and awe
In recognition of my powerlessness
And His power.

I have sanctified the page
For His use. Only His.

If He flips my switch
Then light will flow

At His mercy
Like a dead man
Waiting for resurrection
In the halls of silence.

Here’s my resume:
I used to be a poet of poets,
Slam artist,
I ripped the spot wherever I went.
Won scholarships
Brilliant flash of emotion
Heart-felt lyrics
Blew up underground
Poetry spots with dim lights and smoke
A lone mic on stage
And walked off platforms
To the music of standing applause.
Produced poetry slams
Wrote poems by the book-ful
Inspired those around me
To put their hearts on paper.
I knew I was going to be a great one.

But what used to be gain to me
I now count it all as a combined loss
That I might win Christ.

I lay this microphone at your feet, Lord
And my pen. And myself.

A dead man.
If I ever hold the mic again
It will be a miracle
That defies medical diagnosis.

And that’s just reality.
No matter how you slice it.
We are all dead men.

We are like dusty unscrewed lightbulbs
Laying cockeyed on a workbench
In the attic. Filmed over like
A deadman’s eye.

Something begins.
A buzz and a spark.
And then an ember of light
Comes alive softly
Like a mother’s hum,
Like a hymn.

It grows in intensity.
Christ in you
The hope of glory.

And for the rest of your life
You’re not yours anymore.
You’re a glowing light bulb.
With no visible power source.

You’re a piece of heaven
Destined to show the world
What God is like. How he feels.
How he touches. What he thinks.
What his laugh
Sounds like. His tears.

All the dead people in this dark world
Are screaming how good they are.
How OK they are.
How they have it all together.
It’s noisy down here.

You don’t have to scream louder.
Just shine. Let God radiate
His quality. A still, small voice.
A soft tongue that breaks bone.

And just remember
When it gets hard
And you’re trying so hard
To make light happen
That you forget
You are light

You forget
The miracle --

You forget
It wasn’t your own power
That flipped your switch --

You forget that deadmen
Don’t raise themselves --

Remember this:
We are His workmanship,
Created in Christ Jesus unto Good works
That He before ordained
That we should walk in them.

Remember this:
He who began a good work in you
Will carry it on to completion
Until the day of Jesus Christ.

He is our light. He is our life.
Don’t stray from His side.
Endure as seeing Him who is invisible.

Don’t sit there staring at your own hands –
Claw through the wreckage and uncover
His shining face
And live again.

Remember who you are:
God’s venue
A place where He can show up
When and how He wants to.

Seek his face.
Listen for his lips.
Long for his touch.

And you will shine.

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