Since it is National Poetry Month, I’ve decided to post one of my old poems. I write a poem every Christmas to include with my Christmas cards. This one was sent years ago.

 

The Price of Love

One night a man came home from work

   disgusted from his day. 

His daughter ran to greet him

   and his anger died away. 

Her smile was oh, so delicate!

   her childlike ways so pure! 

His waning joy rekindled

   as he raised her from the floor.

“If everyone could be like you

   the world would be much kinder! 

Why must we have such misery

   and pain?” He stopped to wonder.

 

Then, drink in hand, he settled down  

   to watch the evening news. 

His daughter snuggled with him

   as the talk shows aired their views. 

One host after another

   spoke of pain, of tragedy, 

of graft, corruption, vice and greed,

   deceit, duplicity. 

“Where is this mad world headed?!”

   he screamed out in great despair. 

“Where is this God they talk about?

   How come he does not care?”  

 

Just then, into his living room

   walked Jesus, calm and meek. 

He sat down on the sofa

   and he stroked the young girl’s cheek. 

He asked her father, “Why such fear?

   Why do you feel despair?” 

“Because you have abandoned us!”

   he said. “You do not care! 

You say you love us, but you lie!

   We cry out, but in vain. 

If you’re so good, why do we suffer?

   Why not stop the pain?”  

             

 “My son,” said Christ, “I want to

   but you never follow me. 

You refuse to do things my way,

   thus, you cause your misery! 

What causes most of your distress?

   Is it not people’s sin? 

You’re hurt by other people’s wrong;

   from you sorrows begin! 

I’ve shown the way, I plead with you

   but you refuse to see. 

So maybe I should ask you

   why you let these evils be.”    

 

“We’re weak!” he said. “We’ll never change.

   You know we cannot win! 

Why not force us to follow you?

   Make sure we cannot sin!” 

“Because,” said Christ, “If I did that

   I’d be forcing your love. 

Love must be given freely,

   not coerced with mighty shove! 

If I truly love you, then

   you must be free to turn from me. 

For if I forced your love

   it would be meaningless, empty!”   

 

“That sounds so sweet, but let’s be real!

   Let’s call a spade a spade! 

How would you know what suffering is?

  You’re God! You’ve got it made! 

You don’t know what it’s like to starve,

   be hated or ignored! 

What did love ever cost you, huh?  

  what pain have you endured?” 

Just then the child, who’d nodded off,

   awoke, and as if planned, 

look up at Jesus, shrieked, and said: 

  “Sir, what happened to your hand?”