“The Red Bible”
I went out in nature, and tried to find God;
He seemed to be absent wherever I trod.
I sought God in music, to try and find Him,
The lyrics were flat and the worship felt thin.
I prayed for a vision, I prayed for a dream;
His voice remained silent, He gave me no theme.
In art and in friends and in quiet I sought,
but I had no answer to my searching thought.
I took up my Bible, its cover so worn,
I read through its pages, and did so each morn.
His voice then I heard, His words were my light,
and on them I meditate ’til I have sight.
And all other searchings, they’d work for the others,
but I read the book with the bent-up red cover.
I trust in my Father; His letters to me
speak more to my soul than a bird or a tree.
I hear His voice clearly, His wisdom I find;
and dreams, visions, artworks, although very fine
cannot show me Him, cannot give me hope,
cannot give me power to fight or to cope.
I find in His Word with the words that I know
The power and sovereignty He wants to show.
I find in His Word all the language and passions
that never I found in the best “Christian fashions.”
And so in the torn-up red Bible I’ll read
and learn to worship but the One who will lead.
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