The Building

0 Comments

The Building

The building I walked into, it was scary as I sit there, no sound should I make, not even with the gum I was given to chew: The people stood about and they would sing songs with a shout. An unknown language I would sometime hear. The man up front would seem to be screaming and dancing about, red faced he would be, with sweat dripping down everywhere, no, oh no those were not tears I would see. Shaking in my seat, I would move in my skin or so it seemed to me. As a child this was very scary to me. No not a word of Jesus' Love stuck to me. I was as unhappy as a child you see. God's Love was far from being taught to me. The building which was a church was only a building to me. As time went on I learned a few songs such as one, two, three, the devil is after me, another deep and wide-you know the fountain, and Peter James and John in the sail boat. The building just a building to me. Later as I had grown, I entered many buildings which were just buildings to me. One day I found Jesus, not in a building that one might see. I realize when God showed me the building where Jesus lives, it was inside me. I am the temple which he dwells in. I can open the windows and doors and share him with others I meet. If he knocks at your door, let him in and he will dwell with you throughout eternity. The building is not the church where you attend and congregate the church is you. Jesus is with you everywhere you go through sorrows, pain, temptations and even wrong turns in the road of life, he may even have to walk outside, he will never leave you alone, once he has you, he'll never let go, he is like a wonderful father and mother some never had, he is there for the good times and the bad. O' no my life has not been full of wealth and the greatest of health, my life has been blessed with more joys than I could ever express, more peace within than I ever imagined days before. The building is me where Jesus lives and I look to see him in the building of you.

Poem Comments

(0)

Please login or register

You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
leave comments/feedback and rate this poem.

Login or Register

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

sandymallory’s Poems (3)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Yours Eternally 1
The Building 0
The Two of You 0

sandymallory’s Friends (2)