A poem that came out of meditating on Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane where he told his father, "not my will, but yours". This poem is one man's choice to live it out, and its consequences.
To burning, walk, not lukewarm, stand
"Have your way," I heard him say
though half-heartedly at first.
Then gradually, increasingly,
he began to realise and see
that saying "have your way" was not
a solemn walk of drudgery,
but rather better that he'd panned,
to burning, walk, not lukewarm, stand.
His older ways now faded past,
their appeal lost to new desire
to kindle flames of dangerous fire,
to follow close the narrow trail
and down this pathway, oft' unmanned
to burning, walk, not lukewarm, stand.
Growing to live in sacrifice,
your way became his better best
and slings and arrows mattered not,
a simpler life, he would attest,
and choosing first your greatest good,
he burning walked, not lukewarm, stood.
And at the end, he turned to me and shared
"A life better lived, I can't compare.
I thought I knew, but his way was better
free from all my self-made fetters.
He taught me to walk, and now I'll run,
his arms are waiting, my journey's done."
With that, he left me there beside his bed
all he'd been no longer stayed.
Simpler trust to live out "have your way"
I've not seen to this very day.
A life lived fearless, bright as sunlit sand,
a man who chose to burning, walk, not lukewarm, stand.
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