Why do we complain, When Heaven has poured out all that our souls require? Why do we cry out as if the weight is unbearable, When we have not yet wrestled sin to the spilling of our own blood? We whisper of lust, Yet have we fought until our hearts bled clean? We excuse the tongue, Yet have we crushed our pride to the dust? We sigh « this is too much » Yet have we resisted sin with everything inside of us? Christ did not treat sin as light. He fought. He endured. He bled. Not for His Sins But for yours. And mine. So why we wear sin as a cloak of ease? Why do we call faith a vibe, When it has always been sacrifice, Persecution. Disciple. Holiness? Stop wearing Jesus like an ornament. Stop Hanging His word on your walls, yet not carving it into your Hearts. Live as if His trumpet is at your door today. for He has given us all, Like a Father setting bread before His children: His word, His spirit, His grace. So Fight. Bleed if you must. But be right with God.
Poetry is of immense appeal