Almost a Monologue

Son, you come to me Praying This New Year's Day Taking stock perhaps Seeking direction. You sense it's hard Routine job No great challenge No great thanks Disabled wife With large demands Children left the nest Friends few On the horizon No formal church connection No desire either In that direction. This your 65th year Will work, yet And you wonder About significance And legacy. Many large names In your ken Are gone And all but forgotten. What do I want of you? Fidelity Equity Honesty Patience A listening ear A smiling disposition Words in season To downtrodden Or confused. Oh, and there are your writings I haven't forgotten Touching a small readership Glorifying my Son Holding forth my Spirit Some of the works Have pleased me Proved that you were Listening Meditating Praying Studying Waiting Passing along. And in such writings An inkling for you Of what I really want: That you worship me Utter my name before others And the hope that comes From my Son The real life that comes In my Spirit. And do it where you are That factory That family That neighbourhood That marketplace That readership. And when you are ready Perhaps a turn In the road. Don't rush You have barely begun Your service In me, for me. Do not ever fear The sand in your glass. You were not born In some exotic place Neither am I sending you. So Son Remain Worship Occupy OK? Happy New Year. In my Now. https://issuu.com/dewane/docs/receive_his_monologue