BEYOND THE PAGE

BEYOND THE PAGER, I FOUND HIM

Before I’d Seen Six Summers

Before I’d seen six summers, I made a hobby of laying hands on the sick.  

Small palms, unsure prayers, no clue if Heaven bent to listen.  

Yet testimonies rose like incense — fever broke, pain fled, hope returned.  

And I believed.

At Twelve, A Voice in the Streets

By twelve, the megaphone became my prophet’s staff.  

Town to town, dust on my sandals, I poured the Gospel into open air.  

The Word was fire in my mouth, and I thought it would never dim.

The Fading Flame

Then came twenty-two. The flame guttered.  

I chased reason, convinced I’d unearthed a truth weightier than Christ.  

I found only silence — lecture halls with no voice of God, mirrors that gave no answer.  

Emptiness. 

Still, He Remained

For there is a God beyond ink and parchment.  

Incomparable. Indescribable. He will not be caged in verses alone.  

I met Him in the quiet between chapters, in midnight prayers that shook the floor,  

in the breaking of bread with the broken.  

Inside the Book and beyond it, He wove a bond no storm can tear.

The Hunger That Holds

Doctrine, by itself, grows hollow. Indoctrination will one day ring empty.  

But a holy hunger — an addiction to know Christ beyond mere hearing —  

that is the root that makes faith unshakable.

And so, though we fall, though we wander,  

we will, at all cost, rise again.