We live such secret lives today. We don’t, ever, want anyone to see our faults, our weird quirks, and most of all; our shortcomings. People go to amazing lengths to keep a thing hidden that would embarrass themselves if others knew what was really going on. The funny thing is though, they are trying to keep their sin quiet from people, while altogether forgetting the one who sees it all: God. Every single thing we do is observed by God. We don’t even breathe without God knowing that it happened, is happening and will happen again very shortly. He is omniscient. So, instead of going to the Maker and getting our sins forgiven, we try to hide it and push it under the rug; all the while having amnesia that the rug was God’s too.
I have to admit; I am not perfect. I am saved by the grace of God; just like all blood washed believers. But, there was a time in my life that I just didn’t want others to know I struggled. It was all due to my pride. I couldn’t reveal that me, a tough, gruff man, couldn’t keep his life together. I mean, I wanted to look like a success, like other Americans seem to be. I quickly learned that wasn’t the way to God; and it didn’t bring any growth to my life; at all!
So, three years ago, I started to be more accountable to my family and others. It was scary at first, because I was really revealing my heart to people; and that could have some consequences to it. Although, now, I realize that not being accountable to others, and most of all God, was disastrous to my life.
Ever since I have been doing this, people have been connected to me in prayer and I have seen a large amount of growth in my life. I became a friend of God; instead of a disobedient liar. None of us can keep it together; that’s why Jesus had to die. Our sins were separating us from God. Since we ALL don’t know what the heck we are doing, why not admit that. Let us all go to the throne room of God and lay down at His altar our “secret thing”. You will get forgiveness and start a personal dialogue with the All Knowing God; who DOES have it all together.
The poem is about how we try to hide our sin(the stain) in our lives(the shirt). No matter how we try; or, how many times we scrub ourselves, we are not qualified to do the job. The job is not ours to hide and clean up our own lives from sin; that job is reserved by the blood washing of Christ and His sacrifice for us.
Let us all put down that Magic Eraser and cry out to Jesus for forgiveness. It is time we stop striving so hard to do a job that we will NEVER be qualified to do.
Here is a verse that just simply sums it all up: 1 John 1:9 ” If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” Wow, what a promise! He will cleanse us from all unrighteousness and get our shirt(life, soul,spirit) clean. And after that, we will have the confidence to go to God with the small things as well; cultivating a deep relationship that will last for eternity(Hebrews 4:16).
Enjoy the quirky poem with a subtle/funny message. Please feel free to comment, subscribe, and most of all, tell others what you read here today.
The Great Plains Poet, laid open and bare and a frequenter of God’s amazing grace.
When The Laundry Doesn’t Come Clean
by Chris T.
I’ve made a mess, quite a great mess.
I have to confess it doesn’t come clean,
When I scrub and scrub to no avail
I must make this shirt as new so it will gleam.
Maybe more elbow grease will set in motion
The erasing of a great and terrible commotion,
That I fully intended to keep fresh; but could not.
Will I ever remove this grape stained blot?
Let’s get another tool; a frivolous device of convenience.
Let’s dole out some cash; now wouldn’t that be genius.
I bite my nails, waiting, oh so waiting for my tool to arrive,
And tear open my box that just barely survived.
Rush, rush to my shirt and my terrible stain,
And notice a problem; a big one for certain.
This new device that I bought has a grevious flaw,
The bristles fall out and it don’t clean at all.
I might just have a friend who could help with my blemished shirt,
who knows how to scrub and get rid of tough dirt.
Now where is his number, his digits, his info
I’ll jump in my car; my beat up old pinto
I beat on his door with said shirt in tow,
And I ring the bell in an erratic pace.
Silence, more silence; now I finally know,
That no one is home at my buddy’s place.
What will I do with a shirt I can’t mend?
Should I call its maker; see what they recommend.
I punch in the digits and wait on the line,
And explain my dilemma with such a loud whine.
The maker explained: “I foretold of your mess,
And the way to get it clean; is to solemnly confess,
All of your hurt, and all of your sin”;
Which made my shirt, gleaming and whole again.