God’s Beat

By Roger W Hancock

Life in God a poetry, soundless words in lifting meaning of evading thoughts of life. Strength of oak be found in such a tiny seed in itself a miracle explained away in natural way by those with no ears to hear. Wonders of the birth of man or animal the complexities that form from such tiny egg and sperm to the fullness of a being. I wonder why others wonder “How can there be a God?” Within my being the wonder is “How can NOT there be a God?” In the beating of my heart I feel the surging power of God; blood life pumping through my veins. From my heart brotherly love can pour to family, friends, and strangers poor yet more a conduit of greater love than any man can love, the love of sacrifice of son for us, to show the greater love. The heart, a bioelectrical machine yet capable of so much more; man can build a pump but cannot build a heart.

Blaming God for destitute in spite of all that’s offered us, a vain and wasted thought. God is God, for point one, this is his story not ours he defines the perimeters of this mortal life. God is Love yet God is just to all there be a point, though not for us to know but to listen to his call. Calling, tugging, pulling he calls for everyone, even you who swears his name but in your heart be hardened tissue diseased within your aching heart failure to see that sin is sin, small or large, in me or you. When we refuse to see yet within we know, we try to blame others even God for our own diseased decaying condition that lies within our hearts. In spite of all our wretchedness, all our selfishness, it is within the sacrifice that can cleanse the worthlessness.

This life we live within ourselves in loneliness though not alone we wallow in self pity, blaming others, blaming God, blaming anything, rather than the self reflection of who we really are. Discourage not the greater life of living life today, may not be a grandeur life, with money, cars, and more, but to live within love greater than any one mortal can possibly love. Father, stern and just with a firm forged rod of ancient iron, justice a harsh fair tougher love. His son Jesus advocating for my sins, your discretions, final closing arguments of bloodied nails impaled through hands and feet. Comforted by the Holy Spirit of a reprieving purpose for this earthly walk. Upon the shameful cross, innocence of the hope for mankind’s hopelessness reconciling the righteousness long lost… by one apple’s bite.

Roger W Hancock written 10-29-2002 www.FoolBay.com