Costumes of Cotton.

“Behold, I am sending you out as sheep amidst wolves,

so be wise and stay out of violent ways.” (Matthew 10:16)

But the wolves are so cunning!

They pace about in costumes of cotton;

a fleece so pure it could deceive anyone but God Himself.

But my, what large paws you have!

Funny, I thought sheep have hooves. (And are those claws?)

And my, what large teeth you have!

They seem quite excessive for a diet of grass.

But aside from that, you look like sheep, so you must be a sheep

So I’ll listen to you even though I can’t help but think something is wrong.

Just because his costume is clean doesn’t mean he won’t trick you.

Don’t be deceived!

He’ll tell you want you want to here when you want to hear it.

He’ll whisper candy-coated lies in your ear and call it freedom.

And all the while he slips shackles on your wrists and chains about your feet.

and you’re trapped before you even realized you compromised.

“The Enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy.

But I have com to bring abundant life.” (John 10:10)

So when the shape-shifting shadows on the wall start to move again,

Rest assured that our God is the God who set the captives free.


Dead Men Tell No Tales.

Oh, God, oh my God, I live among dead men!

Rotting corpses, decaying flesh falling off dry, brittle bones.

And if they’re not dead, surely they are dying

Because I can see demons leaching the life from them.

Right before my eyes, children of a holy descent fall dead.

And what did I do to stop it?

Oh, God, if only we could be impressed with urgency!

If only we could realize how close the hour is.

When the clock strikes 12

I don’t want to be the only one for miles being caught up in the clouds!

God, your word says that if we confess and believe, we are saved.

But for some, that’s too much faith in the uncertain.

But I’d rather believe in faith than accept eternal uncertainty.

And if only we could be moved to share what we believe,

perhaps we’d stop seeing walking corpses.

Dead men tell no tales, but bones speak endless stories.

Dried, cracked, warped bones revealing a life of spiritual death.

But I know the Breather of Life.

God, wont you open graves and call forth your chosen?

Won’t you bring the winds of the Breath of Life to the dead?

Their bones cry out for revival.

They are ready to rise up.

But why haven’t we?