#PoemADay No.3: A King With a Dream

 

Allow me
to share with you a poem
about a King
who had a dream
long before He assembled you piece by piece
in the peace of your mother's womb,
before he crafted Eve from Adam's rib,
and cracked open the darkness with four words,
whose Spirit hovered over the cool waters of the formless earth,
and rested on the seventh day
to smile at the shades and colors and contours of all He had made.

This is about a King
who had a dream
to scoop the dust of His earth into a physical being
whose body would become a temple of the Most High,
a dwelling place of Elohim,
whose image would make him the only thing in existence
to bear the likeness of the One who has existed
since before the very first tick of time.
This King had a purpose for His child:
to name every beast and bird, 
with freedom to eat from all but one tree,
to wake and sleep in His provision, 
to bear light and multiply to the farthest edges of creation.

But we all know what happened. 
A serpent, an exiled servant, 
thought he could undermine what the King had bestowed upon His children.
And Eve, born in innocence, entertained contradictions and questions
until they altered her belief system,
until she figured the only way to attain what she thought she lacked
was to take it for herself,
take matters into her own hands,
be her own source of wisdom,
her own rock, her own god—

she went from rehearsing the command of her King
to rehearsing the lies of a snake,
from discipline
to doubt
to disobedience
to disappointment
to disgrace
because they
never fathomed
that the forbidden knowledge they sought
was only useful to a sinner.

The only difference between good and evil
is obedience,
awareness of your dependence,
the sense to know that there can only ever be
one true King,
one Most High.
You cannot be God,
you cannot make the rules,
do as you choose
and escape the consequences of your choices. 

Yet this is who we are.
Skeptics. Rivals of God. Enemies with delusions of omnipotence. 
Power hungry and ready to run things
till we quickly find
that our shoulders weren't quite made to carry planets,
our words carry more damage than we can balance, 
we run out of answers, patience, 
our confidence--too often fleeting and makeshift, 
our egos can't carry the weight of perfection, 
our palms can't take the nails, 
our backs can't withstand the lashes we've earned, 
our heads cannot bear the weight of the crown,
our bodies and talents and friends and wallets
cannot deliver when we put ultimate trust in them.

When we admit the truth, 
we come face to face with this reality
that no matter what we do,
nothing is ever enough.
We are not enough
until…

until we speak the name of Jesus,
and by faith, choose to see Him
when we look in the mirror, 
and believe that the same King who made garments
to clothe Adam and Eve
even as He banished them from Eden
is the same King who came back,
in a manger,
and showed us
that a tug on his robe,
a little trust in His name,
a mustard seed of faith
is all we ever needed
to heal diseases and cast out demons
with authority suited only for the imago Dei.

This is about a King
who had a dream
that His offspring
would make the fatal mistake
of questioning His capacity
or His character or both.
But remember His query of Job—

"Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation?
Who shut up the sea behind doors
when it burst forth from the womb,
when I made the clouds its garment
and wrapped it in thick darkness?
Can you pull in Leviathan with a fishhook
or tie down its tongue with a rope?
Can you put a cord through its nose
or pierce its jaw with a hook?
Who is this that questions my wisdom
with such ignorant words?
Brace yourself like a man;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me."

It should not surprise you that
Job found himself speechless.
It was in that moment he knew
he had lost his mind in questioning God,
that he was absent when the King first dreamt
every detail woven across every corner of the cosmos,
yet, as easily as we breath, we still doubt and question and ponder
if He can do what He says He will.

This poem is about a King who had a dream
that his children would leave His side and lose their way.
That an accuser would call them guilty and revel in their pain.
That they would doubt Him, 
despite the very breath that flows through their nostrils when they wake. 
But like every good storyteller,
our King kept a plot twist in His pocket,
and called it forgiveness.
Grace.

And gave us permission
to step before His throne
and lay before Him
every single desire
in His name
because to call on the name of Jesus
is to believe that He
is King,
and that nothing we do can earn
what has now been given for free.

So simply put,
this poem is about a King
who dreamt that, 
in fear and greed, 
his beloved children would flee,
but rose in peace,
knowing His chosen remnant
would believe.

 

Cover Photo by Ben White on Unsplash