Behold the lone man sitting in his wheelchair.
I’ve come to pour oil all over his hair
And pray for him, hoping that he will be healed.
But as I pray, intense pain is revealed.
I try to encourage him, but the pain shouts
“I won’t go away!” and I hear lots of doubts.
The more that I pray and then with the man reason,
The more it keeps shouting to me “Treason, Treason!”
I see Athaliah beholding the king.
“His praises,” she cries, “I do not want to sing!”
I see the poor crippled man choosing to flirt
With all of his suffering and all of his hurt.
How can I get this poor man’s mind back on God?
I have to confess that I feel like a clod!
Sadly, I fear that this simple prayer session
Has turned into one big “Can’t do it!” confession.
“What ever shall I do?” I cry to the Lord.
“Get his mind off the flesh and it will be restored,”
I hear Him reply. “Turn his mind to the scripture.
By rightly dividing it, show him I’m bigger
Than all of his problems and all of his issues,
Including the pain that resides in his tissues.
Remind him of Noah ‘sea legs’ in his ark,
Trying in vain to track down his aardvark.
You’d think that his underwear had a few ants
The way the anteaters keep sniffing his pants.
Or speak to him of Babel’s unfinished tower,
The project on which I rained down a cold shower,
How impudent men with their stubborn old plans
Discovered they simply could not understand
The ridiculous sounds that arose from their mouths,
How, like squeaky chipmunks they scurried about!
Their project in ruins, their plans all for naught,
The building abandoned, their space program shot.
They thought they were sneaky in hiding from me
The plans that they made in all obscurity.
But at the last moment I pulled out the rug
Upon which they’d rested so safe and so snug.
I ripped off the blanket beneath which they’d curled
And scattered them all abroad throughout the world.
And can I not do the same thing for this man
For whom Christ has died? It’s all part of my plan.
They buried His body and thought they had won,
But He rose from the dead. Then we had some great fun.
The devil was snoozing on top of that stone.
Then down swooped the angel. “Surprise! Not alone!”
Satan dropped his pitchfork and got crunched by that rock.
His head has been crushed, and it came as a shock.
Yes, trials may hurt. As for death, it still stings,
But the power of His resurrection still sings.
It’s greater than any attack we may face.
Such is the freedom we find in God’s grace.