THE SPECTACULAR

Give me spectacular,

Grant me a miracle,

I pleaded as I prayed.

Speak as You did at creation,

Command,  “Let it be,”

And in an instant it will be,

According to Your Word.

Why flawed this cry,

Though wrung 
From anguished heart?

Flawed because,

It directed God to act,
According to my will,

Not His.

Wisdom whispered tenderly,

“Pray like this,

 “Not mine, but let Your will be done.”

And then the miracle,

Quietly unfurled,

And at its heart was found,

A matchless love.

I did receive a miracle.

Myra D’Souza / 3^rd May 2012

BARTIMAEUS AND I -- Mark 10:46-52

 How often we are daunted,

How easily we’re cowed,

We step aside when bullied,

By a peevish, Godless crowd.

We squander opportunities,

By yielding cravenly,

To fear so oft’ unfounded,

Through sheer timidity.

Not so was Bartimaeus,

A beggar who was blind,

Who longed for an encounter,

With the Physician, Jesus Christ.

With lively faith he raised his voice,

Above the scolding crowd,

He would not let them badger him,

His spirit was unbowed.

“Be merciful”, he shouted,

“Son of David pity me”,

The more they tried to quiet him,

The louder grew his plea.

 “Call the man,” said Jesus

He’d heard the beggar’s cry,

Anyone who calls on Him,

He never will deny.

He threw aside his cloak at once,

And at God’s feet He fell.

“What do you want of Me,” said Christ,

“My blindness Lord dispel.”

I too was blind when sin had cast,

It’s ugly blight on me,

I cried aloud like Bartimaeus, 

Now praise God I see.

Myra D’Souza / 30^th April 2012

AWAKENING TO TRUTH

A little glimpse of heaven,
A sudden burst of light,
It lasted but an instant,
But with it came insight.
A greater understanding,
Of what He wished to say,
To me this glorious morning,
At the dawning of the day.

A spark of holy wisdom,
Shot silver through the gray,
My bent toward desire for,
Self-glory stripped away.
Censured by the Spirit,
I was dismayed to see,
How often I have courted praise,
In blatant vanity.

I the wick while He the Fire,

He provides the oil,

His the seed I’m called to scatter,

He prepares the soil.

Nothing mine, all He has given,

His the light I shine,

As I labor in His vineyard,

Forming hearts in His design.

MYRA D’SOUZA / 26TH APRIL 2012