Part I The Problem
It's plain to see that I'm well read,
But Jim has gum drops in his head.
The man's as dead as dead can be,
This couch potato wed to me.
The dusty Bible on his shelf
Cries out with fervor, "Die to self!"
But he just lies there, sawing wood.
Six hours he's slept. That isn't good.
The lazy bones! It's half past five.
I have to make him come alive.
It is my job to make him do
The work that God has called him to.
I draw the shades. Surprise, surprise!
"Receive some sunlight for your eyes!"
He dives beneath his "comfy cozy."
Bold pounce I with cheeks all rosy,
Landing on his spineless back,
A perfect target to attack.
"Get off. That hurts! Leave me alone!"
"No way!" yell I. "I must atone
For your obese tranquility.
Throw off your sloth and look at me!"
I pull the puppet from his face.
He yanks it back. "Get off my case!"
I fetch my trusty rolling pin
To loosen up his legs of tin.
"Your attitude does reek of sin!"
He answers, causing quite a din,
Alarming dog and scaring cat,
The fur ball he calls "not that fat."
(It doesn't get much exercise.
But knowing Jim, that's no surprise)
I've had enough. "Awake! Rejoice!"
The hubby disregards my voice.
"Oh God," I cry, "why won't Jim hear
The words I holler in his ear?
It's killing me. Please, Lord, a tissue."
Shocked, I hear, "That's not the issue.
Your approach is what must change.
Your thinking you must arrange."
Part II Who, Me?
"But Lord," I plead, "the problem's Jim.
You really must get after him."
Apparently He disagrees.
I hear Him say, "Get on your knees.
Relax your stiffened neck and see
The wisdom that you have in me.
Now open up that famous letter.
If you do, you'll feel much better."
So, a bit reluctantly,
I turn to first Pete chapter three.
The little print makes me feel small,
Like I'm a crumb bum after all.
It tells me not to be a fruit
That likes its own hot air to toot,
But be a letter Jim can read,
A model he will want to heed.
"Hot coffee spilling on my shirt"
Describes how painfully alert
It feels to have my sin revealed,
That from myself I had concealed.
I sure have been a nagging drip,
A canker sore upon Jim's lip.
My flesh has fretted, fumed, and fussed,
Demanding that he change or bust.
No wonder he tunes out my voice.
This blanket wet gives him no choice.
But now I'm ready to repent,
To bear the message heaven-sent,
To be God's letter from above,
A candlestick of peace and love,
A new, in-tune convertible
That gives him an amazing thrill.
I'll be the snow upon the ground,
Refreshing rain, a good news sound.
I'll be the fragrance in his nose,
The perfume that de-stinks his toes,
A chocolate cupcake laced with grace,
That cheers his gloomy, pasty face,
The beach house that delights his eyes.
But first I must apologize.
Part III - The Composition
Behold the power of brokenness
To make a parchment heaven-blessed!
Onto this soil soft and light,
God sends His Spirit rain so bright,
With glowing notes that touch my heart.
What rows of giggles they impart,
Cascading from His fountain pen!
A letter that enlightens men.
The laughter gurgling from within
Pours out my mouth and down my chin.
These holy currents, full of joy,
Sweet bubbles musical employ
That splash bright truth on every line
Inspired by His grace divine,
Inviting Jim to try the wine,
To eat the bread, To come and dine.
It takes a while for him to see
The change that has come over me.
But then one day I see him smile.
I've not seen that in quite a while.
I know that every time I yield
to God's inkpen, truth is revealed.
Old lines of sin He does erase,
Composing new to take their place.
I am His letter, sent to share
His love to all men everywhere,
Written by his mighty hand
To bless the readers in this land.
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