When The Laundry Doesnt Come Clean 09Aug

Yes this is one of my shirtsAnd yes, I am clumsy. We live such secret lives today. We dont, ever, want anyone to see our faults, ou r 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 r eally going on. The funny thing is though, they are trying to keep their sin qui et from people, while altogether forgetting the one who sees it all: God. Every single thing we do is observed by God. We dont even breathe without God knowing t hat it happened, is happening and will happen again very shortly. He is omniscie nt. So, instead of going to the Maker and getting our sins forgiven, we try to h ide it and push it under the rug; all the while having amnesia that the rug was Gods 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 didnt want others to know I struggled. It was all due to my pride. I couldnt reveal that me, a tough, gruff man, couldnt keep his life together. I mean, I wanted to look lik e a success, like other Americans seem to be. I quickly learned that wasnt the wa y to God; and it didnt bring any growth to my life; at all! So, three years ago, I started to be more accountable to my family and others. I t was scary at first, because I was really revealing my heart to people; and tha t could have some consequences to it. Although, now, I realize that not being ac countable 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 an d I have seen a large amount of growth in my life. I became a friend of God; ins tead of a disobedient liar. None of us can keep it together; thats why Jesus had to die. Our sins were separating us from God. Since we ALL dont know what the hec k 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 perso nal 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 No matter how we try; or, how many times we scrub ourselves, we are not ed to do the job. The job is not ours to hide and clean up our own lives n; that job is reserved by the blood washing of Christ and His sacrifice shirt). qualifi from si for us.

Let us all put down that Magic Eraser and cry out to Jesus for forgiveness. It i s time we stop striving so hard to do a job that we will NEVER be qualified to d o. Here is a verse that just simply sums it all up: 1 John 1:9 If we confess our si ns, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all un righteousness. Wow, what a promise! He will cleanse us from all unrighteousness a nd get our shirt(life, soul,spirit) clean. And after that, we will have the conf idence to go to God with the small things as well; cultivating a deep relationsh ip 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 Gods amazing grace.

When The Laundry Doesnt Come Clean by Chris T.

Ive made a mess, quite a great mess. I have to confess it doesnt 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?

Lets get another tool; a frivolous device of convenience. Lets dole out some cash; now wouldnt 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 dont 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 Ill 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 buddys place.

What will I do with a shirt I cant 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.