Let us come—and boldly so—
To the Throne by grace.
Jesus lit the path we’d walk
To that eternal place.
The Son of God, the Son of Man,
The one whom we would shun—
Cried out in His disgrace, “Forgive!
“They know not what they’ve done!”
Salvation’s start from that pure heart
Still calls to everyone.
And just as then, in these sad days,
Many elect to shun…
A rich man’s idol shines of Gold;
A poor man’s troll is wood,
But Jesus is the same for all
Who’d claim His name and blood.
It started on a wooden cross,
Then in that upper room,
The Pentecostal fires would rage;
The Holy Spirit’s come!
Long before, it had been writ,
Told in prophesy,
God would pour His spirit out
Upon all flesh—that’s me.
I ran as if a small, scared child
From some abuser’s hand,
A lifetime spent in running from
What I’d not understand.
I taunted, mocked and called them names,
Fools and hypocrites.
I laughed, but felt that laughter sink
Into the hellish pits.
Yet God would lead by lock of hair
Or tugging at my ear
Like a spoiled child might go
To the corner’s chair.
I couldn’t know He led me so;
I guarded my heart there.
But Pentecostal fires will burn
In Full Gospel’s atmosphere.
Somewhere in some proverbial sea,
I floundered helplessly.
The devil pulled but Jesus lifted;
O, sink or be set free!
“God!” I cried, “please take my pride!
“Before I sink into the tide!”
Something gave in my blubbering wave;
He washed me from inside.
Few would know how changed winds blow,
For dark are secrets held
When doors from the past fly open at last
To salvation, as He willed.
And thus begins Revival’s winds,
First inside of me.
Perhaps the Good Lord has some task
To set that tempest free.
If I’d still breathe upon the day
God showed to Joel back then,
"Dear Lord, I’ll pray that as You say,
I’ll dream with those old men.”
©2019 by Monty Wheeler
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