COULD I?

Not a cloud in the sky.
Who’d not wonder why?
But Noah built a boat.

No sign of a plight,
No water in sight,
But Noah built a boat.

And through the task ‘cross many years,
Perchance through mockery and tears
Noah built a boat.

Would I?

Who doesn’t like to think they’d be like him,
Not giving in to the devil’s taunting whim?

Could I?

Stay the course through toil and travail?
Stay the course sans worry of fail?
Not in and of myself;
Not with God put on a shelf.

Dear Heavenly Father, I need Your hand upon my head, for of myself, I’m limited in what I’d do for you, but in the Holy Ghost I’d find your power. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

                --Monty Wheeler

THE GUILT

With naked soul, she came in utter shame

for guilt has ways to win;

sans Jesus there's no chance to run

the guilt from deep within

There's those who'd say God's not the way

for God does not exist

and there is naught of Life's big book,

no names are on a list.

Strip down thy soul and give thy whole

to feel thy spirit soar;

ye'd know He's there; He's everywhere;

there's urge to want Him more.

Then back to guilt, that damning thing

that will destroy God's child;

it yields to naught but Jesus' blood

so we'd be reconciled.

Stripped of pride. she stepped inside

a world outside herself

and closed her old life like a book;

it's forever on a shelf.

TREE OF FAITH

He told the woman, 

“Your faith has made you whole.”

Dear Heavenly Father, 

let that same faith fill my soul.

The Bible’s about faith in God above,

who He is;

                    who He is to me,

It's all about faith or lack thereof;

from beginning end,
                                  and I pray,

Dear Heavenly Father, help this seed

of faith grown into a giant oak tree. 

©2019 by Monty Wheeler

SALVATION'S SONG

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

House Divided

No more “One nation under God.”
And like sticks will break one by one

We fall as a nation divided,

For separated, tis easier done.

We shall fall like some right-field fly ball

Into some barbarians’ abyss.

Yet some will cry, “You lie! You lie!

“You can never speak of this!”

And yet…the future’s already told;

Our future’s history’s there

In the Bible’s Revelations,

And this nation’s there nowhere.

What hope have we but to prolong our fate,

And for a time stand bold and strong?

What hope have we when—bitter—we fight

O’er the simplest right versus wrong?

As a sea would part, we’re divided of heart,

And a devil’s chasm opens wide.

A cloven hoof? Or a staff and rod?

And each condemns the other side.

United we stand. Divided we fall,

And partisans divide us all.

Quicker they bring this nation’s end;

Quicker we come to Judgement’s call.

©2019 by Monty Wheeler

A FOOL AND HIS WILL

How easily a fool doth see

Like blind men walk along

How deep and dark the fool’s abyss

When all he thinks is wrong!

I—happy—walked along a path,

Mislead by many signs.

I lied to me and all who’d hear,

“This path’s of God’s designs.”

I so believed—or wanted to—

That in God’s will I merrily skipped

But worlds collide where “real” and “lie”

Leave sweet fancies ripped.

There is no fancy greater than

Believing God has led,

Then to find the deceiver’s mind

Was always in my head.

“Liar!” I cried of self,

And yes, I lent an ear.

I’d walk the roads named Will of God

But they lay “over there.”

I whispered lies in my own ear,

Believed the fantasy

For all the while I lied with that,

“I know God talks to me.”

“Now what to do?” I asked of God

In poem of fervent prayer.

That soft, still voice ne’er spoke to me;

God’s will lay “over there.”

Would motive be where I went wrong?

Did I try bartering

With praise to Him?  Forgive me, Father,

I’ve sinned against my King.

Perchance, as Eliphaz has said,

“He’s caught the crafty wise.”

I met my dark in night of day

And groped with night’s blind eyes.

Thus he cries, “Behold!” to Job

And, “Happy is the man

“Whom God corrects in chastised bruise

“Then heals.”  He always can. 

I walked a lie and wondered why

God’s will lay “over there.”

I walked in praise expecting trades

And made my sinner’s lair.

I woke to sun; the world still spun;

The Good Book lay near by.

If God would slap the sinner’s hand,

He’d kiss the tear-stained eye.

O, to seek His will and way,

I must have humble brow

Not thinking what He’ll do for me;

It’s faith.  I know that now.

©2019 by Monty Wheeler

THERE COMES A DAY

I lay mine kiss upon thy brow,

Once smooth but wrinkled now,

And as thy soul takes Heaven’s flight,

I hear your solemn vow.

We’ll meet again in Heaven.

Thy body’s naught but an empty cup

That you no longer fill;
Lids to thy empty eyes raise up
But not by a once-strong will.

They gather round us, all of them,

All your friends and kin.
I brush gray hair from your blind eyes
And cry all o’er again.

No I’m sorry or If you need…

Consoles the wounded heart;
I need you more than ever now.
Oh, why did  you depart?

Until we meet again in Heaven…

                        --Monty Wheeler