10) City Dwellers
There was a day when I was filled with the
excitement of knowing that God is our sufficiency in all things.
My mind then turned to the city and what makes a city. I knew
that firstly, His rule applies in all things of life and secondly,
that the city was void in all areas of His rule and healing power.
Furthermore, it was those who were in authority who were supposed
to be teaching, directing, leading, delivering but instead were
the ones responsible for the corruption and degeneration of the
people. Only outside the city but not far away was the remedy,
Hey, you city dwellers!
Do you see that yonder Light?
He is the Standard of all standards;
He lights the way so you can see...and not stumble.
He is the Walkway to lead you in sure directions
To take you where you need to go.
He is the Grocery Store;
He is your Bread and Butter and all good food,
Without additives...or subtractives;
You'll find no nourishment elsewhere.
Why are you so gaunt, city dweller?
He is your Post Office;
To Him messages must go
And from Him they will come.
Mail service is timely and free;
Why don't you pay your postage?
He is the local Drug Store
But for good and not for hurt.
In Him are the leaves
For the healing of the nations.
See that Jewelry Store around the corner
And there you'll find precious stones
To grace the chest of one who wears them.
No costume jewelry here.
The gold is real, the stones are genuine;
He is not here to deceive.
He is your Clothing Store
To clothe you with clothes that cover and not
To clothe you with decency and humility, city
To hide your shame.
Why do you pass by? Do you prefer your nakedness?
Drug pusher John, why do you dwell
In the darkest recesses of the alleys?
Are you afraid of the Light Standard?
Why do you betray the people in whose midst you
There is no hiding from the Light Standard, John.
He shines around corners and even through walls...it
only seems to take
A little more time.
Your time is at hand, and how quickly it has come,
Tailored to your needs.
He is the Policeman;
Not a pig but the Lamb;
Not to injure or to trap but to help;
Not to condemn but to deliver.
Gather the rubbish, city dweller.
Clear the streets of its stench.
Throw your waste away which lies up to your waist
Into the receptacles of repentance so that
The Garbage Man may take it away
To the city dump of fire and forgiveness.
Counselors of the dwellers, where are you?
Why is there rubble in your streets?
From where comes the stench of garbage?
Why is the Water cut off and the Power?
Where are you, counselors of the dwellers?
Counseling yourselves in your high places
While the dwellers languish below?
Sewers for water and water for sewers!
Woe to the counselors who don't know the difference,
And teach from the high places of darkness.
Repair the lines!
Turn away from your own comforts and gains, counselors,
Or you too will be in the garbage truck,
On the way to the fires.
You'll receive the greater damnation
For the price you've exacted at the cost of
Dwellers near and far.
Give them the Pure and Living Water
So that they thirst no more.
Take away their waste
Instead of causing them to consume yours.
They worship you and honor you,
And ask for more of what you give,
Yet go away empty, darkened, hungry and without
You have what you are after.
Why is not the Light Standard shining?
Why are the streets so dark?
Let the price be paid by those who would have
Let the streets be seen again, if not for the
And let the way be known;
Let it be obscure no more.
City dweller! There is little time
To rush, to push, to do;
There is a Park where you can go;
Sit down awhile, rest and think.
Where are you going?
What are you doing?
City dweller, why are you here?
Where will it end?
So you make your million. Then what?
Take your ease and enjoy?
Sit awhile longer, city dweller, and think again.
Those who seek their million neither rest nor
They have only learned to make their million...
And another...and another.
City dweller, go to the Park; stop and consider
for your life...
And consider until you have it.
On the edge of town just up the hill is a gate
With nothing between here and there but refuse.
Clear it out and make your way to that gate...a
Which opens to the City Lodge.
There you'll find rest and food and comfort
And the Light Standard inside.
Lethbridge, Aug 14, 1984
11) Evolution - A Poem of Tact, Diplomacy,
and Gentle Persuasion
[worthy of those addressed]
It has occurred to me that if there ever
was a lie, if there ever was anything so unscientifically accurate,
if there was anything so preposterous, if there was anything
so utterly stupid and incredibly farcical, if there was anything
that made supposedly educated and intelligent men look like babbling
idiots and pea-brained morons, it is the theory (or even more so,
theories, each proving the other wrong!) of evolution.
Taught as fact, contradicting truth, and
while in some cases and ways trying to accommodate God somewhere
in their schemes, these men have denied Him and rather than coming
from monkeys, have made monkeys of themselves. Yet they will
not believe me when I tell them creation is regressing.
Madness, are you an accident?
In all your incredibility, can it be possible
That you came from a mere explosion of gases?
Madness, you have so many forms!
One form is to believe that so many forms
Have been an accident.
Bang! And there you began.
And you grew and grew and grew
And grew and flourished
Madness, could as much as you
Come from so little?
How can a genius as great and powerful as you,
Reigning as you do over the hearts of the wise,
Come from a mere bang?
The world raves in you;
You have evolved much farther than they.
Those you call accidents are your subjects;
You make monkeys out of them.
Leave me out of it.
More than that, I'll speak to them...
Without your help or your hindrance.
One thing is certain:
Truth is not one of your subjects,
Neither are reason and understanding.
You have no sway over them;
May they speak with me.
You idiots! What man would stand and claim
That a Seiko watch could come
Out of an explosion of gases?
What fool could believe him?
But madness has done her perfect work!
You idiots! From where did those gases come
And the spark to ignite them?
And from where did the space come
For these things to happen?
Mad fools! Hopelessly bound in your chains of
For which is it easier to believe?
That the complex man who devised a Seiko
Was devised himself
Or that he was the product
Of a mere haphazard explosion
With haphazard results
In a billion haphazard directions
Just as you declare of a Seiko watch?
jf fj w nenwqjnfmfdmf,m/xw'[pgjrekq'faaj
jfkf,l; ,fld mfwoggfmgk v r
(Just thought I'd chance it for a moment and see
if the absence of order and intelligence might prove you right
after all! Did it or did it not? Perhaps more time...like eons
Theories you call facts and sound knowledge myths.
Black is white and white is black.
Monkeys, in their places,
Far excel in wisdom over you.
Are you sure your evolution is not in reverse?
Perhaps the universe is shrinking
And your mentality is doing its share and more.
It is one thing to hear such folly;
It is another to know why it is spoken and believe.
To acknowledge a Supreme Intelligence
Is to acknowledge one's self as less.
To know there is One Who is above all
Is to consider the possibility that
He may require an accounting
Of word and thought and deed.
"The fool has said in his heart, There is no God."
Damned fools are you all as the Scripture says.
Asses you are, less than monkeys in ways
To declare your shameful thoughts
And teach them with pride when you ought to
Hide your faces in embarrassment
At the very idiocy of it all.
You interventionists! Are you any better?
"We say Yes to evolution only if God intervened
To give man a living soul."
And who was running the show
Before He intervened?
Was all in chaos, out of control
But advancing quite well nevertheless
To the ape?
Can you produce an ape
Just like your Seiko watch?
Damned fools you are as well,
With false religious flavour!
Will you please God with your conditional assent
To a theory truth does damn?
Madness, you reign indeed!
And idiots pay you homage,
Lunatics praise your name!
Could they ever come as far as you have?
Could they dare hope to rule over others
As you do over them?
Everywhere we look, we see degeneration
But evolution marches on.
"A missing link! A missing link!"
Fools, in your understanding there are missing
And until you turn from your obstinacy
Of resisting the truth,
The missing link remains.
Three theories taught as fact,
Each proves the other wrong;
Chase your tails you monkeys,
While Madness sings her song.
Lethbridge, Aug. 1984
Click HERE to go to “Exposing Evolutionists.”
Social and moral issues abound. There is
no want of them - ever. And rarely are they settled to the true
benefit of all. Debate goes on and on and on. The minds involved
grow deeper in darkness until, with all their statistics and
evidences, arguments and logic, all sides are as raving mad men,
utterly failing to put their finger on the problem, much less
finding a solution for it.
This writing came quite spontaneously and
basically expresses the truth that darkened evil minds must be
given the right and the opportunity to suffer the fruits of their
thinking. Their consequences will speak far louder than the voices
of those who try to spare them their folly.
Abort the mark of tragedy;
Abort the evidence of pleasure;
Abort the stark reminder
Of consequence for evil.
Rid yourself of nuisance;
Rid yourself of cost;
Pay no mind but to yourself;
For your sake a life is lost.
Still the witness, erase the interruption,
Forget the past, if you can;
Still the conscience
For crying against your deeds.
Is the conscience in your womb?
Rather than removing the turd,
Cover it with a mound of manure.
But go and do your will, woman;
Exterminate your seed
Lest we be overwhelmed
With the fruits of your ways,
The posterity of your thoughts;
Haunted by mammoth mounds,
Perishing one and all.
Lethbridge, Aug. 19, 1984
13) The Specter of Fear
I have known fear, perhaps not as some have
known it but many know fear one way or another, at one time or
another, to such an extent that it cripples, paralyzes the soul.
We think we have security in this world until one day we are
rudely awakened from our pipe-dream. Security in this world is
but an illusion. When our disillusionment comes, its comrade-in-arms
is often fear. But that disillusionment needn't be our enemy.
In truth, it can be a friend in disguise.
Nor do we need to fear as though there is
no such thing as true and sure security, for then we would be
prey to a lie, to our own destruction. There IS a sure security
for those who will avail themselves of it.
My fear rides me like a stern rider
Rides his horse.
Unless I run his pace,
His spurs dig deep my sides.
I think blood flows at times...I'm sure of it.
I scarcely dare to think, to pause
For fear I have a rider
Who will not show me mercy
Who will not grant me pardon
Who will not make a move
To relent, to ease my pain.
"Run!" he says. I run.
"Faster!" says he. I go faster.
"Faster isn't good enough! You've had it!"
I think that if I drop,
I have sweet release.
He whips me as I fall.
Fear is not afraid to beat a dead horse.
He seems to relish it, delight in it.
The compassion of fear is tyranny,
His patience only scorn.
He takes the meat and feeds it to minks,
And then I think, "Aha!
There is rest in the mouths of minks,
Fear has no torment there!"
Until I find that my rider
Is possessor of minks as well.
He rides the minks
And feeds them me.
Fear holds all in Hell,
And when he skins the little ones
And sells their hides for gain,
Scarcely do the buyers know
They're clothed with fear and pain.
Lethbridge, August, 1984
14) Atheists Cry
Until the believer is perfected, there remains
some atheist in him. He says he believes, but in the final analysis,
his fruits tell otherwise, quite.
We worry, doubt, or fear because
we don't believe. Examining
ourselves in the Light, we discover the truth about ourselves.
That Light's source
is the fire that serves to purge us of the atheist within,
that fire being an enemy at first, and a friend in the end.
How will I know I can stand the fire
Unless I am subjected?
How do I develop muscle to do heavy work
Unless I do heavy work to develop muscle?
How do I form calluses on my hands to prevent
Unless I do those things
That make blisters?
I say I have faith to do anything,
To suffer all things and smile, even laugh
But how do I get that faith
Unless I suffer the very things
To produce the faith
To laugh at the things concerning which
I say I have faith?
How can I cry and say, "I believe"?
But when I believe, I shall not cry
When the fires come
Because the fires have done their work.
Lethbridge, August, 1984
Jesus said "Judge not according to the appearance
but judge righteous judgment." Therefore there is a right and
true and valid judging. The problem is that many do not recognize
the difference between the right kind and the wrong, and many
lawless, hiding their own sins, refuse to acknowledge that there
is a valid kind to which they might be subjected by judges who
are used by God.
What is the sure and fair standard? It is
none other than the revelation of God, given to men who have
died and received that understanding and wisdom in those matters
they judge, having been given to know the secrets of the heart.
The price is the beam by way of the cross.
Measure me! How long am I?
How tall? How big? How strong?
Is there anything to measure
When all is said and done?
Do I compare to what I was
Or what I will yet be?
And what will I be?
Do I compare to others?
What standard will you use?
What I have, will I always have it?
Is it worth having to lose it in the end?
Is the glory worth the shame?
Vanity! Utter vanity!
Our possessions aren't two cents!
One day they're here and then they're gone.
Failure never relents.
Judge me if you think you can;
What measure will you use?
Inner, outer, upper, lower,
Do you have any clues?
Appearance is not all there is
In fact, appearance isn't. It is NOT.
But how will you know what is?
Does reality not exist?
Is it not available?
Or is it here and unperceived
Only because you are blind?
There is an answer.
Lethbridge, August, 1984
16) The Rest of God
I once thought I had entered rest when I
was first converted...and I had! Compared to the former horrible
state of darkness and misery, the realm of repentance was glorious
and restful indeed. But I had not arrived.
Then came trials, urgings and purgings leading
to the receiving of God's Spirit. Again, the realm of the Spirit
was glorious compared to the one of repentance, and I rested
because revelations came and great burdens were lifted and removed
forever. But I had not arrived.
Chapters opened and closed and rest came
at the end of each, yet beginnings introduced new fires, new
terms of correction and purgings so that I could rest some more.
But I had not arrived.
Then came a breaking at the hands of dark
men. Healings poured in. Sight was increased and lifestyle corrected.
We were blessed and we rested. But we had not arrived.
Years later, I wrote this paragraph after
just having the severest trial I had ever had, likened by the
Lord to that which Job had, yet alerted to the great contrast
to his. (Job's was classical, for our sakes). But I was taken
right back to my very foundation and was now different than before.
Years passed again and I found that I knew
neither rest nor fires like they could be. In fire, I, again
more than ever, writhed in pain. Rest comes in small doses and
brief intervals, only to prepare one for more fire. (He that
walks with God, walks in fire, until there is no more need of
Today, God is all in all. Those who enter
into rest not only have it; they ARE the rest. This is Shabbat;
this is the Feast of Tabernacles, that glorious union with the
Lord Jesus Christ, Yahushua Adonai Ha Mashiach. It is His coming.
This is the Day of the Lord, the Day of Vengeance, the Day of
Yahweh, the Day of Yahushua Adonai. Blessed be His Name!
(This poem was written years before the
reality. Many of the utterings of the saint in process are prophetic,
not merely poetic, even as with David in his psalms).
How good is this rest, my Lord, my God!
How good is this rest!
To sit and wait with nothing in hand,
To be patient and willing to see that in store,
To know in the heart that all is Yours
How good it is to rest!
We've been climbing and struggling,
Working and crying,
With nothing in sight,
With all things far off,
With hopes deferred, promises delayed
Dreams and hopes dashed to the ground,
Shattered in many pieces.
We have lost and failed
Toiling for unreachable gains.
But now we have our gain;
Now we have received our rewards.
Little did we know that we labored
For the goal of
Not having to labor.
Now we recline, now we rest;
In repose we have a new heart.
We can be patient, resting in
The bosom of Abraham;
Children of faith we have now become.
Yes, though the earth is removed
We know that Abraham needs no earth
To hold him up.
Being in his bosom, we have no need
To have our feet on passing ground.
We have our feet on solid rock;
We sit in His throne with Him;
We repose in heavenly places;
At peace we are within
Because nothing can remove us
From the safety we now have.
We see how little we have to fear;
We see how He provides.
"God is faithful!" are the words
That embed themselves in our hearts.
Our heart can no longer live without them.
God is all and over all;
We've sought to know that for years,
With head knowledge and lips;
We believed but did not know.
Give me the couch,
I have had the ladder;
I've climbed to the mountains of rest.
Let me repose, it is heavenly bliss,
The reward we have for our labours.
We have ceased from our works,
We have ceased from sin,
We have ceased from worry and fright.
God grant us this life forevermore;
May we be staid in His sight.
Thank You, Lord for giving us rest,
For so long we have so sought;
The rest You give those who seek after You
To reign and to be at peace.
No longer do enemies rule over us;
No longer do our needs hold sway;
The protection and provision
Which we now have of God
Are as a two-edged sword.
Firstly He gives us the privilege,
Secondly He gives us the goods;
Firstly He gives it within,
And then He grants it without.
Death has no sting,
The grave has lost,
The resurrection is robber and healer at once;
We are the goods He has wrested from Hell,
Repaired for Himself for all time.
Sing with the angels!
Dance with the saints!
Let Heaven explode with joy!
Celebration and feasting have fearful cause;
Nothing can stand in their way.
Sing, o creation and clap your hands!
Your smile has purpose unsurpassed;
This is your day and your hour
For deliverance from groaning and grief,
From vanity and awesome oppression,
From death and Hell itself.
A manifest son of God has risen
To set the captive free
To heal the broken-hearted,
To take away burdens of the oppressed.
Sing and dance and jump for joy!
Eat, drink and be merry!
No greater cause is there for such
When a saint has entered his glory.
There is a rest for the people of God!
No more thorn and thistle and briar,
No more toil and sweat and tear,
No more disappointment.
There is the restoration of Eden,
The blessed garden of God.
There is wealth and the glory and power
Reserved unto them that believe.
Rest, o sweet, wonderful rest,
In peace and holy comfort,
Earned, not earned, taken yet given
But appreciated nonetheless.
Fearful are the ways and judgments of God!
How high and mighty His ways!
Lift up your knees and your arms;
Lift up your head, sojourner;
Travel-weary and bruised you may be,
Robbed of your goods and your dreams,
Abandoned, alone with nobody
To care nor understand.
But He is there though He is hid,
Until the day of unveiling,
And when the veil is rent in two
From Heaven to Earth,
Then no more flesh stands in the way,
Of the Christ there is no more dearth.
There is rest in the room of the ark;
There is perfect sweetest rest.
Here in the bosom of Abraham,
Jesus is manifest.
Keep His commandments, never say die;
There is a time to come
Where cost transforms to benefit untold
And all is then worthwhile.
And carnal man, you must be told
That though I write from Heaven,
Yet I am in my flesh 'til now
And speak by such a mouth as yours.
The change has come this side of the grave
And needn't be hoped for only beyond.
Inherit the earth, my beloved friends,
And savour the sweet rest of God!
Lethbridge, Sept. 1984
17) We Are Branches, We Are One
All of creation points to and teaches us
of God, His requirements of us, our relationships to Him.
Life in Christ must be as spontaneous and
natural as the branches to their tree trunk. And am I presumptuous
in pointing out that as branches cannot live without the trunk
so the trunk has no life without branches? Can it be that Almighty
God is so committed to us, His creation?
We are branches, we are one,
Not by ourselves, not of ourselves,
But we live by the Greater One
Which gives us life,
Which gives us purpose for being.
Though we go our own ways,
One this way and that,
Still we serve the One greater
From where we come,
In Whom we have our being and our life.
We serve the Greater One and give It life;
We live for It and It alone.
The Trunk is our source and our deposit,
The Beginning and the End.
How can we live except we give?
If we do not give, the Trunk does not live;
If the Trunk does not live, we die.
For the Trunk then we live
No other choice can there be,
Yet we give not so that we live,
We are what we are;
We do what we do,
And if we do well we live.
18) The Wild
The terrible battle to be fought by the
seeker of God is against unbelief. One moment, we can be so full
of belief, of joy and excitement, assurance and boldness. Then,
as little as it takes to slam a door, so quickly and surely have
saints of God known the onslaught of unbelief in all its terrible
Our fight is the fight of faith. Our faith
is the victory. Nor is it a faith concocted, a matter of will
power. It is rather, a surrender to God, an acceptance of things
as they are, an acknowledgment of things as they are and entrusting
them entirely out of our control to His. Thus we come out of our
valleys, our clouds of darkness and into the light.
Wave after wave,
Billow after billow,
No rest, no peace, except for a time,
A short time, a breather so to speak,
From the unrelenting pressures which increase.
Darkness all around us,
Blind alleys at every turn,
Clouds obscure the light of day
And leave us damp and cold.
When will we be free?
When will the storm cease?
Has it no end? Has it no bounds?
Can we go on with our hopes
Dashed to pieces at every turn,
Like cardboard huts in a hurricane?
Is it sin in our lives that causes this state?
Is the wrath of God kindled against us?
Have we no hope, no reason to expect
An end to intermittent turmoil?
"There is no peace to the wicked," the Scriptures
Yet we have searched and searched ourselves again.
And though we know that in our flesh dwells no
We still find ourselves without an answer.
The sky is as brass, His voice we don't hear,
Our steps we seek counsel for, to no avail.
When will He come and show Himself?
When will we be clean to receive our King?
When can we have our hopes fulfilled?
Why does He hide His face from us?
How is it that curses seem to haunt us still?
Is our faith so small
That we do not enter in
To that which He has in store for us?
Or is this nothing more and nothing less
Than a process of refinement,
A must like the seasonal pruning of trees
To bear more fruit?
But where is the fruit?
I have my seasons of sorrow and humiliation,
But where are my seasons of harvest?
I despair from knowing the answer.
I thought I had it;
I do not.
I hoped I would receive it;
Will I ever?
Have I confessed my unbelief
In asking if I'll have an answer
When I ought to ask for it
Believing I have received it?
Lord, help my unbelief!
I am like one up to my nose in quicksand;
My perishing seems so sure.
I surely cannot help myself,
Nor can any man
or number of men
In anything they can do.
My only hope is that my God
Will come and lift me from the quagmire
In which I have fallen and sunk so deep.
I thought I was out, never to return.
Many times I thought I was out,
Only to find myself enveloped again.
How can these things be?
Do the Scriptures not tell us
Of a life of victory and of power?
Are only a chosen few
Given to be as Stephen and Samuel?
Or have they too had such lives
Of trial and loss and failure
Before the dawning of their day
To shine as lights much brighter than the day?
Am I to believe
That this is a preparation,
That all goes according to plan?
Or must I fear
That all is almost lost,
That I have failed,
That there is no base for hope any more
That God will not deliver
A sinner such as I?
Yet a faint glimmer of hope lives on
Even as I enquire.
I know my God is able;
I know I want His will
At any cost there is.
And so I wait
That He will save
And manifest Himself
Once more forever more,
Never to leave again,
His presence ever there
For me to enjoy.
Hear me, Lord, and hear my cry,
I have no one but You.
If all this cloud and quiet
Is for our very best
Then can I accept it, assured
That You will come and be to us
What You have promised
In Your appointed time.
Must I also be in the dark
About this as well?
How much harder it is to live
With uncertainty upon uncertainty!
But if You are faithful
And if You choose,
You are able
To cleanse me and deliver me
To be with You
And You with Me.
Come Lord, please come.
Lethbridge, Sept. 1984
19) Have You Any Idea?
Things are seldom as they appear - if ever. This is because two
factors obscure the reality. Firstly, the object of the observation
seldom conducts itself outwardly as it really is within or behind
the scenes. Secondly, the ability on the part of the observer is
limited at most times so that he is not able to see as he ought
And woe to the one who tries to acquire that which he desires
by trying to give the appearance of either getting it or already
Truth in the inward parts is not only the desired end but the
means to that end.
"I am the way, the truth, and the life..."
Child of fullness and plenty, have you any idea
How empty you may be?
Your stomach is filled
Your laugh is hollow.
Child of laughter and merriment have you any idea
How sad you are?
Your heart has a notion
Of sorrow on the way.
You scoff at you know not what.
Child of scorn and scoffing, have you any idea
How the arrows you shoot reverse?
Your own conscience tells you
Of condemnation imminent.
That which you do not understand.
Child of pride and knowledge, do you have any idea
Of your ignorance and foolishness?
You know it all
But not as well as you are known.
For mercy - you have none.
Child of prayer and fasting, have you any idea
How full you will yet be?
You are now empty
On the way to fullness.
Your tears are not in vain.
Child of weeping and sorrow, have you any idea
How happy you will yet be?
Your heart is filled
Your crying is soon to end...in laughter.
Lethbridge, Sept. 1984