The Answer Screams

I searched the earth, the land and sea,
I searched through church and even me....
I searched and searched - but found it not.
How can we find - what we've forgot?

I searched out far, to other lands,
through darkened forests, desert sands....
I searched and searched - but found it not.
How can we find - what we've forgot?

I searched up high, the stars, the skies,
and also asked the learned and wise....
I searched and searched - but found it not.
How can we find - if we know not?

Somewhere, one answer's right, we know -
between our God - and Hell below.
To find it, man has done his best,
When looking north - south, east and west.

We know this world's in downward spin.
As people die, they die within.
Why does it seem - few people care?
And do we miss the answer there?

Then at His cross - His love, His grace,
I stumbled some to see His face -
And from this cross, as He looked down,
blood still dripping, off His crown.

He looked at me in such a way,
that I remember to this day -
my sin I could not least disguise -
as He peered in, my hopeful eyes.

Despite His face, so bloody, stained,
despite His cuts, despite His pain,
despite the nails through hands and feet,
my searching still was incomplete.

He then relayed a final clue.
I asked, "What can one Christian do?
Just one of me will never do."
I found it not, my answers few.

And this is why, what's done is done.
The truth, I feared, would weigh a ton.
I could not stand to see His face,
so I looked down in deep disgrace.

Then humbled by what I saw next,
I saw not one, but two objects.
I searched no more, for on the ground -
This answer clearly I had found.

Sometimes the answer's like our dreams -
and isn't really what it seems -
and this time I was in a fix....
Truth hit me like a ton of bricks.

It's not in all the things I hold.
It's not my money or my gold.
The answer's here and it's complete,
beneath our Savior's bloody feet.

I thought, how can I lift my cross,
when I, His sandals, step across?
Challenging, our earthly scandals.
The answer screams, "His Holy Sandals."

At first, quite stunned, I gazed upon -
then cautiously, I slipped them on.
If on this cross His work is done,
then here my work has just begun....

Luke 12:32-34
32"Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom.
33"Sell your possessions and give to charity; make yourselves money belts which do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief

This poem was a finalist in the June 2009 poetry contest