I saw the mighty oak
Planted there beside the stream.
It was odd and it was beautiful
And it was everything in between.
I would long for it in secret
When I would walk along the creek.
For it was odd and it was beautiful
And it was everything in between.
It was a dark, dark day
When I started across the stream.
I had decided to approach it,
Overwhelmed to find it approaching me!
I laid face in the dirt,
Nose shallow in the ground
knowing, but not understanding
That somehow it was I who had been found.
I did not think myself to be hiding,
But was now astutely aware
That in all my days of wandering
I had been filthy, toes to hair.
The mighty oak invited me
To its place there beside the stream
Where I could kneel and bow my head
And let the water wash it clean.
Day by day I rested neath the oak
And I began to learn His name.
His name was Grace Abounding
And He melted away my shame.
I spent many years there,
Being coddled by His shade.
And He taught me how to love Him
And I tried to teach Him the same.
I told Him how I liked things.
How I did not prefer the dark.
How I wanted warmer temperatures
And how He could play His part.
He was not learning quickly
And I knew it from the start,
For the days were growing colder
And the nights were getting dark.
I grew frustrated with His slowness
Figured I could do just as well out on my own.
So I put His leaves in my pocket
And made the road my home.
I took my newfound confidence
And built myself a throne.
I asked others to swear to myself
While still claiming allegiance to the oak.
This work, it was successful!
And deep down was planted a seed
That I could go on just fine like this,
That I no longer needed that old tree.
But He knew what I did not.
That there was a new growth inside of me
And He made a plan to destroy it
Without warning or heed.
It was one day on a visit
That He invited me to climb
And I leaned too far into his hollow
Before falling in it for quite some time.
I was surprised to find it dark
Inside a place that I had known to be so bright.
And wondered how many minutes might pass
Before He brought me back to light.
Those minutes became hours
And those hours became days.
The days turned into months
And I began to feel betrayed.
How could He do this?
I had trusted Him so!
Had He invited me to this place,
To leave me dead and cold?
Surely He would not,
For I had only known Him to be good.
But I could no longer see even the faintest light.
Dark, as if masked by a hood.
He would let in light some days,
But it was always random.
Nothing I could do to make it happen,
And nothing I could count on.
As the months went by and by
I felt in my gut this rot.
I knew that I was dying
And I knew that He cared not.
The rot began to fester,
clot, ooze, and bleed.
And I knew now for certain
He would not be coming back for me.
The days and months, they ran together
But one did stand apart.
It began as the cruelest of days
As I felt Him pierce my fading heart.
He stuck me with His wooden blade
And let warm blood flow free.
I screamed and bled
And begged “oh just kill me!”
After far too long he removed
His blade for me to see
And I realized it not to be assault,
But surgery.
He was holding that rotted growth
That tumor that began as seed
And I realized how small I had made Him
And How great I had made me.
He needed not explain
For I knew what he had done.
He had starved the growth in darkness
And in a battle for my heart, had won.
He pulled me back to light
And I shut my eyes quite tight.
Not from sensitivity or pain,
But out of pure frozen fright.
I knew I had betrayed Him
And I had seen the terror of His power.
He lowered me to the ground beneath Him
And there I knelt, and cowered.
I pleaded for Him to leave me
To let me return to my shame.
He told me that He loved me
And He reminded me His name.
For His name is Grace Abounding,
Planted there beside the stream.
He is odd and He is beautiful
And He is everything in between.
Andrew Cowart is a single, attractive, talented writer who was asked to write his own bio. Follow him on Twitter @cowartandrew.
