Down Butternut Street God and I walked.
We studied the people as we talked.
Stayed out of my heart and in my head,
But God looked at me and thus he said.
“Jim--you’re conscious visible to me.
Hungry, homeless so many I see.
Lots of poor sad people here in need.
I want to help but you must lead.
“Wait God,” I cried, “that’s not the deal.
Weak and helpless--that’s how I feel.
You have all power and awesome might.
You’re the One to make this right.
That hungry child needs bread and cheese.
Crippled lady--help for knees.
Homeless man needs shelter near.
Sad couple ought to get some cheer.
God this work is up to you.
You should know just what to do.
Fix it all by magic spell.
Heal and help and make all well.”
God didn’t bite. He said to me.
“Jim, you’re my eyes. Through you I see.
Your heart’s my heart--your hands are mine.
Their working order seems just fine.
A simple truth that you must know
Is that through you--My work can show.
Do not refuse or seem to faint.
If you won’t help--that means I can’t?”
|These poems are
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