Loud feedback in the semi-darkness
Whispers in the seats, arms jostling
A thin arc of spotlight boldly shoot
Where the microphone stand is
The man clambered up the steps
Mopping sweat from his forehead
Bible nestled in the crook of his arm
He shielded his eyes from the glare
“Ahem… uh…” He coughed indelicately.
Throat cleared, words mumbled
People around him tittered like monkeys
Counting bananas in the jungle
The pastor in the front seat was indignant
His wife of twenty-nine years blushed
Neither knew what to do about the man
And both hoped this wouldn’t take long
The story came tumbling out like blocks
Slowly being built from the bottom up
Turns out the man was a reporter for
Morning Sun Weekly; a monthly newsletter
His boss had convinced him this revival
Was a sham and wanted him to run an expose
But since this was only the third night
So much, he claimed, changed within him.
First, he laughed it off- a mockery by an atheist.
Yet when he first heard the bountiful words
Of the Lord speaking through the preacher
No longer could the man scoff any more
Voice quavering while tears coursed down
As he recounted that fateful encounter
Of his conversion from unbelief to faith
His heart washed in the current of the Blood
This is truth, the man cheered with the Bible
Aloft in his right hand, like a pristine shield
The expose, He shall write, with all speed
Not of a sham but of a heart redeemed!
So shall the story be shared beyond
This little revival tent; far into the world
By pen and by radio, everywhere
If he so could, bring glory to God
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