To Be Spiritually Minded

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.








Author: C R Flamingbush

C.R. Flamingbush grew up in Wheaton, Illinois and graduated from Georgetown University with a degree in German and linguistics. After working seven years for the Department of Defense (an easy job), she took on the most difficult challenge in the world: a lifetime career of raising four children. Along the way she developed a passion for writing Christian superhero fantasy. She enjoys humor because it's Biblical (see the second psalm) and she loves to make people laugh - whether through her writings, her art, or just by being herself. Writing fantasy is her way of poking fun at human foibles and all the ridiculous ideas that so easily beset the human race, while at the same time honoring God in every way she can. Flamingbush has been a member of Faithwriters since 2010, and several of her winning contest entries have been published by Fresh Air Press. She likes Fan Story and has been a Narnia fan since the age of ten. In terms of influence, she aspires to be the next C.S. Lewis but has quite a ways to go in that regard. Speed of Sight, a Superhero Adventure, is her first novel. A sequel is in the works.

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