Sunday, January 13, 2019

A Visitor at the Prayer Meeting...

Here's a poem from several years ago...

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I remember George.
He came into our Catholic prayer group,
fresh out of Protestant Bible school,
like a walking, talking Bible,
concordance and commentary,
rolled into one.
This young, big, burly carpenter,
prayed and sang the loudest,
raised his hands the highest;
had as much fire in his spirit
as in his flaming hair.
He spoke in King James English,
and explained things to us,
like foreshadowings and grace
and expounded upon
the Tabernacle in the wilderness,
almost verbatim
from the Old Testament.
I’d never heard anyone
talk like that before,
so I asked George,
how long he’d been studying Scripture.
He told me, six years.
I read Scripture every day,
figured, in six years,
I’d quote the Bible, like George.

Six years came and went,
seven, eight, ten, more.
Still, I couldn’t
quote like George.
Once, in prayer,
I asked the Lord, why,
faithful to my reading
though I was,
why I still could not
quote Scripture like George.
Tender, loving words
seeped into me.
“It is for George
to know My Word,” He said,
“I called him to be a minister.
It is for you
to know my heart.”
Finally, I rested
in His loving peace,
knowing those tender words
were true.

Maude Carolan

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