Poetry Written by Ex-2x2s (Part 2)

If God…
Judgment Day
Barney and “The Truth”
Parents
To Jesus, My Savior
Reborn
Clear Vision
Shunning
Foolish Virgins


IF GOD…

If God wanted clothing, I’d dress like a nun.
If He asked for long faces, and hair in a bun,
I’d do it for Him, if it gladdened His heart,
For I love Him so much, I would shoulder my part.

If God asked that I pass, the man on the road,
He isn’t professing, why help with his load?
I’d walk with my nose, way up in the air,
For God doesn’t love him, so why should I care?

If God said that meetings and conventions would save,
I’d be there and work hard, like some frantic slave.
If He said only workers, were meant to be served,
I’d give them the glory that they deserved.

No, He asked that I serve Him, in spirit and truth,
For Christ came to serve ALL, the old and the youth,
For no one is worthy, our sins are like mud,
We’re worthless and useless, apart from Christ’s blood.

So friend read the word, what does God desire?
It is HIS RIGHTEOUSNESS, to which I aspire.
He asks for a clean heart, a love that is pure,
My clothing will fade, but my soul will endure.

He asked me to have unconditional love,
Like the heart of the Father, in heaven above.
To change me and mold me, stretch me from within,
Turn from my self-righteousness, and let Jesus in.

He gave me a freedom, changed my short-sightedness,
For God only honors His Son’s righteousness.
He is coming in glory, so believe on His word,
Only then you will know, how to honor our Lord

By Sheila (De Jager) Martin
Bowmanville, Ontario, Canada

Sheila’s funeral was held 18 May 2005. She died from lung cancer.


JUDGMENT DAY

I stood at the door of Heaven,
I stood at the Lord’s great throne,
No one to take my place,
Judgment on me alone.

As He looked through the Book of Life,
I watched as He came to my name,
I wondered what all He would look for,
I wondered what my life would claim.

I rarely missed a meeting, I kept my hair cut short,
I gambled less than pennies, I never played a sport.
I never touched the bottle, I never smoked a butt,
I lived a very humble man, I walked without a strut.

My wife and girls wore dresses, they did their hair in a bun,
Never watched a movie, suppressed all worldly fun.
They never used the make-up, jewelry never wore,
Their natural beauty far out-weighed the look of Satan’s whore.

We got the worker’s mail, was an elder in the church,
Professed at age of eight, the scriptures I did search.
I knew the “Truth” was right, all other faith was sin,
I always stuck to morals, the worker’s praise I’d win.

I stood at the door of Heaven, I stood at the Lord’s great throne,
No one to take my place, judgment on me alone.
None of those things mattered, of the flesh is what they were,
Despite what the workers said, I now knew this for sure.

So I spent all my life trying to please the Lord,
When all I had to do was believe in all his Word.
My life lived for the workers, I gave and gave and gave,
Through hope of doing this, perhaps my soul He’d save.

By Scott, March 13, 1998


BARNEY AND “THE TRUTH”

The “Truth” first came to Barney’s house ’bout twenty years ago,
The workers knocked upon his door while trudging through the snow.
They told him of the meetings in a hall just down the street,
He’s more than welcome Sunday when others come to meet.

Barney showed up at the door on Sunday afternoon,
A pair of jeans, an old sweatshirt and whistling a tune.
The little ones all turned and stared, the adults had a smirk,
Some recognized the visitor as the local grocery clerk.

Throughout it all, that afternoon, he sat and took it in,
About this way, the only way, to save a life of sin.
He recognized a few of them and stayed around to chat,
Said he’d come back next Sunday if they always preached like that!

That night the “friends” all talked about the man that came that day,
The way he dressed, the words he used, unheard of in “The Way.”
“He won’t be back,” some of them said, “he sat and looked around.”
The workers, on the other hand, a new lost soul had found.

Barney showed up next week, still in the same old clothes,
His hair still halfway down his back, oh why, God only knows.
The third time Barney came along, they felt it time to say,
“We’d like to get to know you more, let’s meet for lunch someday.”

Barney, thinking this was great, said he was off that week,
Tomorrow would be wonderful to hear of how they speak!
Question after question he poured on these two men,
Their home, income and founder; laid out in Matthew ten.

Barney didn’t take that long to see what was the “Truth,”
Why had he only found it now, and some had known since youth?
A few more months, and Barney came clothed in a suit and tie,
He even had his hair cut short like a professing guy.

He sold his TV, VCR, and all his Rock and Roll,
He spent less time with his old friends, was bound to save his soul.
Convention came, and Saturday was all he waited for;
Last hymn, last verse, he made his choice to open wide the door.

He never felt such joy, such peace, as tears formed in his eyes,
While those around him sniffled and beamed as they watched him quickly rise.
His old friends never understood the change that came about;
No shows, no sports, no dances, to them was weird no doubt.

Barney’s family couldn’t see what happened to him too,
He spent less time with them until they thought, “What did we do?”
Ten years gone by and Barney still was faithful to his stand,
He moved up at the grocery store, remained a single man.

He dated girls off and on, but the local grocery clerk
Felt the place that he should be, was labouring in the work.
He met the overseer of the state that he was in,
They talked about his lot in life, to save a world of sin.

Barney’s house went up for sale, as did his half-ton truck,
By spring, prep time, they both were gone, was this true fate or luck?
Suitcase in hand, clothes on his back, it certainly felt odd,
But now what Barney wanted most; his life belonged to God.

The first few years he stayed ’round home, he didn’t get too far,
Conventions, Special Meetings, home to home, and car to car.
State to state and overseas, he traveled far and wide.
One day he got a letter; what the “Truth” had tried to hide.

He asked the other workers and the overseer too,
But none would say a word except that none of this is true.
He questioned older workers when the “Truth” first came to them,
They stuck by their old story, quoting gem right after gem.

Now Barney couldn’t understand how men of God could lie,
Just saying folks were bitter, they would shake their heads and sigh.
He asked of William Irvine and Edward Cooney’s plan
In 1897, they sought out to save all man.

He asked of why George Walker, Jack Carroll, James Jardine,
Turned away the very men that sowed the seeds they glean.
Barney couldn’t take it in, they lied for twenty years,
He led so many to deceit, he falsely calmed their fears.

He spent the best years of his life tied up inside a cult,
What seemed to be his call in life was soon brought to a halt.
He left the work, he left the “Truth”, he left with what he had,
Suitcase in hand, clothes on his back, his heart broke up and sad.

And now what can he do, poor man, no soul could understand,
The pain, the grief that he has faced since from the “Truth” was banned.
It wasn’t long ’til Barney found a group of those outside,
Who left “The Way” because of how those early workers lied.

Through them, the ex-es, Barney found a brotherhood misled,
That he was not alone out there, not like the workers said.
Today, ’bout twenty years or so since Barney found “The Way,”
He’s trying to warn all others of the cost if they should stay.

By Scott, February 25, 1998


PARENTS

They carried us to meetings from the time that we were born,
Barely missed a Wednesday night, scarcely missed a Sunday morn,
Toddled round conventions with all the other tots,
Listened to the workers preach while doing dot to dots.

Our parents showed us by their lives that this would please them most,
Having children in the way; of what more could they boast?
They kept us free from worldly things that led to lives of sin.
Kept us from the worldly folk and fashion that was ‘in’.

They did this for their children, to show us of their love,
Showed us how to please Him most, our Heavenly God above.
We took our stand, we made our choice; we gave our lives to God,
Our parents couldn’t have more joy, we walked where Jesus trod.

For years we went to meetings, we gave all that we had,
Our parents there to help us through the good times and the bad.
They carried us to meetings from the time that we were born,
They expected us to follow in the path of worldly scorn.

But somehow things went not as planned, we took another route,
Whether it was lack of joy or hearts were filled with doubt.
Things just didn’t seem so right, what would our choices be?
Keep going to the meetings and continue faithfully,

Or would we make the deadly sin, the worst one could commit,
Turn our backs and walk away from “Truth”, just outright quit?
We had the choice, we made the choice, we made it loud and clear
Even though our family and close friends shed many a tear.

Where are they now, the “friends” who were close by us up ’til now?
We’re on a lower level folks, to low for them to bow.
Our parents haven’t much to say, our lives are worlds away,
We only have so much in common, only so much we can say.

We talk about our newfound friends, our music and TV,
They talk about the meetings, the workers, “friends” they see.
No interest in part of our lives, of course, they don’t approve,
So walls are built, the barriers up, these things so hard to move.

They carried us to meetings from the time that we were born;
Because we made our choice to leave, forever will they mourn?

By Scott, March 15, 1998


TO JESUS, MY SAVIOR

You stirred my heart, and touched me soft
I felt a warmth of love,
You promised to protect my soul,
Just trust you now, forever.

But I didn’t believe, I couldn’t believe,
I’ve heard all that once before.
It wasn’t true then, so why is it now,
That Jesus could be my Friend?

So heavenly Father, it’s not that I’m cold, or hateful yet to you,
But I’m fearful of choosing another pathway of pain,
Where rules, though unwritten,
Would haunt me again.

So circle me round with your infinite love,
Please care for this willful young soul.
I want to get free of the bondage of past
And feel what it’s like to know Christ’s Grace at last.

To live with the comfort of renewal and strength,
Forgiveness, true mercy and lives broken, spent.
So though I don’t jump in, embracing your Word,
My heart is still racing, I know it’s been stirred.

I want to be closer, but it scares me so,
So remember me softly, and kind mercy let flow,
So that someday, quite shortly,
Your love I can know.

Arizona, USA


REBORN

My soul within this womb of void
Is struggling for release.
Can ever pain’s recipient
Receive rewards of peace?

Contractions of this birth canal
Are OH! So far apart
I cannot push–the babe recedes
Far back into the dark.

This fetal form recoils from life
It’s painful to be born
Tho’ pressure swells, subsides, resumes
It still rejects life’s morn’.

Can ever anguish mean a life
Reborn–a spirit free?
Can ever I push hard enough
That birth releases me?

Oh! dark my soul in matrix void
The cord coils ’round my head
If it should bind beyond my time
Then I will be born dead.

In labyrinthic limbo’s grasp
The heart doth faintly beat
Please come expulsion, set me free
From former life’s defeat.

With birth no bondage of that womb
Wields power over me
For Jesus said, so long ago,
‘THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE.”

Dot Berry
August 1990


CLEAR VISION

Many were the years I could not see
The kind of person God wanted me to be;
Hunting for reasons, trying to understand why
Are the answers in the books, or up in the sky?

Many were the days spent stumbling around
Where to put my feet on the shaking ground?
Tripping and falling on the rocks of confusion
Learning from teachers specializing in delusion.

Many were the hours spent looking for light
Hunting in the darkness–praying for my sight;
Searching and seeking through the long, hot day
To find a place to put my feet in the changing way.

Then one afternoon I’ll never forget
At the altar I met Him; my face was wet.
I asked Him to heal me and He gave me power
To rise up and follow Him–that very hour!

Running and walking, I rejoiced in my sight;
I blinked and paused in wonder at the glorious light.
God can do it for you if He did it for me–
It’s a gift–it’s free; just ask to receive.

By Rosalie (Millar) Burrell
May 19, 1998


THE SHUNNING

Shunned for asking questions
For things not understood
Shunned for searching scriptures
As Bereans thought they should.

Shunned for being honest
Searching heart and soul
Shunned for realising
My life lacked God’s control.

Shunned for cries of anquish
Cries from deep within
Shunned for a conviction
From the hidden depths of sin.

Shunned for finding Jesus
There outside the camp
Shunned that I have chosen
Him as my guiding lamp.

Shunned for being who I am
Giving up my mask
Shunned for telling of His grace
This is my daily task.

Shunned for loving Jesus
To worship Him alone
For all this, I plead GUILTY
For I am now His own.

By Sheila (De Jager) Martin
Bowmanville, Ontario, Canada

Sheila’s funeral was held 18 May 2005. She died from lung cancer.


WE ARE THE FOOLISH VIRGINS!

WE are the foolish virgins, letting our lamps burn low,
Who lost our way in the darkness, not seeing where we would go.

WE are the prodigal children, journeying far from home,
Dwelling in riotous living, further from God we roam.

WE are the goats on the left hand, far from the sheep on the right,
Living the life of the world, lost in the ways of the night.

WE are the sheep gone astray, from the ninety and nine of the fold,
Wandering alone o’er the hillside, bleating for help in the cold.

WE are the coins misplaced, inside of the house somewhere,
Hidden among the possessions, treasures, ‘mongst others, so rare.

WE are the seed sown in stones, who take no root in the earth,
Receiving the word in gladness, then succumb to a world of mirth.

WE are the seed sown in thorns, choked by the lusts of sin,
Hearing the word, but unfruitful, to the cares of life we give in.

That’s what THEY say….

Scott, 1998

Return to: Poetry Written by 2x2s Part #1

Go to: Poetry about Women’s Issues