My Father's Son

After talking to my mother today afternoon, I was listening to a sermon by Senior Pastor John Neufeld at Willingdon Church titled 'Withstanding God's Tests.' In the process, I was reflecting on my Dad, a man I admire and love immensely, and the God whom we both call our 'Father'. It is because of both of them that I am the person I have become today. I often use the phrase 'I am my father's son, and I will make him proud of me.' For a long time, I have wanted to express in some way what that means to me. As I was making my dinner tonight, with rice in the cooker and salmon baking in the stove, the words of a poem suddenly began to form my mind. I ran to get pen and paper, and as dinner was cooking and later while eating it, furiously penned the following lines at one go without stopping. I titled the poem 'My Father's son', that describes as best as I can manage at the moment, what my walk with God has been like and what He is to me.

My Father's Son

(by Kevin Thomas)

Fifteen years ago, as remembered by this man,
God came across a boy, in a wild and desert land.
Though grown up in a church, loving his parents so,
God's call he had not heard, his sin he did not know.
God loved the little boy, wanted him for His own
To hold him in His arms, His Father's heart to know.

And so it happened that summer's evening
After many years of sowing,
The child gained a glimpse
Of his Father and his King.
Though his mind was small, many things he did not understand,
In repentance he knelt and prayed, and took His Father's hand.

The little boy could not know,
That God had a plan
Of a wild and great adventure,
On the journey to be a man.
The road was narrow, long and hard
There were many times he did lose heart.
But still the Father's hand was firm,
This child He had found in the desert, He would not watch him burn.
God loved, clothed, fed and healed him,
Pursued, sang, scolded and even beat him.

As the years went by, many conversations the Father had
With the child He had rescued, who was becoming a lad.
In school, buses, churches and more,
Trains, planes and crowded stores.
Great talks were had on the beach,
Watching the sunrise together, or the starry night before sleep.
The son's mind was struggling, he was trying to understand
The things his Father was saying, of His Word and His plan.

He learned to pray, his Bible to read
To try and love his God in thought, word and deed.
Tenderly and patiently the Heavenly Father watched
As His child began to grow, and learned with Him to walk.
He listened as his son learned to sing,
Of His Saviour and His King.
Many nights there were, as the Father put his child to bed,
And sang over him with joy, watching as he slept.
And many others there were too, that God comforted His son
As he cried out his grief, his heart and mind undone.

The lad struggled to be like his Father,
To follow the One he called 'Lord' and 'Master'.
He yearned more than anything to be his Father's son,
To know that he had brought Him pleasure, His approval won.
The more he walked, the more he saw
The greatness of His Father's Person, His Spirit and His law.
He was awestruck by His wisdom, worshipped His strength,
Marvelled at His dignity, and His graciousness to men.
He was silenced by His holiness, stunned by His glory
Could not take his eyes of His beauty, and the greatness of His story.

And so came the Father with His Son,
and the power of His Spirit, the Trinity as One.
To touch the heart of their admiring son,
And show him the journey that he must take
To lose himself, and this world forsake.

The son listened as God spoke
Of being "Wild at Heart", and its great road;
Of how he was His "Beloved son",
called to be an "Adventurer", the journey to run;
And be a "Warrior", fight for his King,
But also the "Lover" of beauty, a wondrous thing!
To be a "King" wherever God placed him,
And finally, the "Sage", as his final years became dim.

The young man was silent; he had found
The words he had yearned for, of sight and sound.
He would lose his life for His Master, obeying His call
To be as His Father's son, His Saviour, his All.

I who pen these words am he,
The little boy that God found, in the desert heat.
'Tis this year fifteen years to be,
That I have followed my God, and Father to me.
There is none I love greater, none I want more
Than Him who has done great things, with more in store.
And I know this day, that because He cried "It is done!"
That I will always be like Him, for I am my Father's son.

I don't know what is happening to me this year; Ever since January, God has been opening my pen and pouring poetry out of me about all kinds of stuff. Jesus, please don't let this stop; I like it too much!

- The Wisdom Seeker.