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This, a poem I wrote long ago when I was young. I thought if He had saved me, He could save anyone. In this I hold still to this day: if He can keep such as me, He could keep any one upon His way. ...DGB

My life was blistered;
From my sin like leprosy;
My soul was burnt and bruised,
And I longed to be set free.

But when I heard of Jesus,
I laughed at what he said:
Take away your sorrow,
Give you happiness instead.

I struck out in my anger:
Against a foe I could not see,
And that was when I realized:
My foe was really me.

I came to God in weakness,
Choking in my shame,
Saying save me if you would;
Forgive my sin in Jesus name.
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Fightn, I was addept, as most my peers in the 60's, at muckraking the sociaty in which I lived. What galled me was I came to see my oun self, not as bad, but worse then the objects of my loathing. When God showed me that all that was in me was emnity with Him, and my good works were as filthy raggs, I realized how a hell fit for deamons and satan was also fit for me. I did not have any assurence He would save me, as I saw His judgement was just. I cried unto Him and he heard my cry...Oh, what mercy, what grace.
Amen. Wow, what an insightful perspecitive. When working in social justice arenas I came across some muckrakers that were so angry at everything and everyone and I can't help but think now at themselves too. At the time I just chalked it up to ignorance coupled with not having Him to teach love, but deeper than that i suppose is that remaining ignorant is a choice to not let in His light. I know I was the same way (BC) as far as the self-loathing, it's just I didn't really get into anything political until after I got saved. Although that hasn't stopped me from being a little bit of a gadfly.
Anyway- Praise God that He freed you!
hey and me too! :)
And Praise God for the light of the Word and Truth!
Here is a quip I wrote called a peddlers fate:

A peddler’s fate, a jugular tryst,
for almighty dollar, and truth a twist.
Belie discretion, belie shame,
Belie conscience:
It shouts to you blame!

The dollar is real,
and that incurred,
When a sale is made,
and cold cash exchanged.

But what is sold, and what possessed?
When fidelity runs cold,
And discretion is less?

What were the world gained,
if the soul were lost? ...DGB
This poem, "from Adam", I have removed to post in it's oun place
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