Christian Poetry
Poems by Christine Potts

I awoke trying to capture the second image, for the first was burned into my mind so clearly that joy filled my heart.  I lay for an hour trying to take it all in before searching for paper & watercolor to capture it, none was to be found.  Pencil & paper would have to suffice.  I asked the Holy Spirit to enable these hands to convey what I saw and a sketch came forth.  I struggled with my limited ability to convey the simplest of features and it greatly lacked understanding.  It was then that I realized that I could only capture it rightly with words....  As I endeavor to "paint" this scene, I take no liberty, but am in fact writing with the overarching knowledge of Truth and so offer insight as it was made known to me.  Mere human words constrain and minimize its intensity and grandeur.

There were two hand cut stone staircases rising upward in a straight, gentle slope.  The steps were large silvery grey multilayered slabs with rounded edges that hinted at the presence of a grand castle or palace...

The lower staircase, the second, faint and fleeting image, in this vision, was wider than the first.  The steps were so worn there seemed hardly a rise between them anymore.  Standing on the lower case were mournful souls.  Something unseen seemed to overshadow them for the features were nondescript and little could be made out.  They stood apart from each other.  Though they were aware of each others presence, they were preoccupied with themselves for they stood bare, It appeared that they were trying to cover their nakedness and their eyes seemed to plead with the piles at their feet.  What once covered them as they stepped upon the staircase, had  fallen away, step by step.  Piles upon piles, mound upon mounds littered their steps.  As they stood now, the memories of the magnificent brilliant blue mantle that had been offered, but rejected, many times along the way had to  haunt them...  Deep regret shrouded them now since they chose instead to cover themselves with the work of their own hands.  Now, in the Light of Truth, it rotted and fell away, revealing its true quality...  They, in fact, had covered themselves in filthy rags...

The upper staircase is forefront in the scene.  Upon it, multitudes from every tribe, tongue and nation have found The Way.  Their faces are so brilliant with joy that their features fade within the glow.  Still there is amazement in their gaze as the take in what surrounds them.

Billowing from atop the staircase, from an unseen place, is the object of their attention...  A likeness to the richest of silken, velvet fabric.  Immeasurably wide and immeasurable in length, it moves like the wind but surrounds like an embrace.  It reaches downward, flowing far beyond their view. 

Though each one stands singularly within a fold of this brilliant mantle, they are enveloped together in its vastness, in its embrace, and it draws them upward.  They gather it unto themselves more and more with each step.  Yet the fullness is of its folds has held them completely since the first step.  It's as if they can't get enough of it.  They hold it close, press it to their cheek, breath it in and gather up more until they can hardly be seen, yet their faces become more radiant with each armful. 

The living mantle becomes for them a beautiful robe, covering them from head to step. The hue is perfect, clear and bright.  Like the deep, bright blue of the spring sky, in brilliant contrast to the bright white clouds, moments before the sun sets. 

Truth tells us that this priceless garb opens wide its folds in welcome embrace, to all who let go of the work of their hands, and take it up instead, by handfuls, this mantle of GRACE.

(© 2014 Christine Potts – All rights reserved. Written material may not be duplicated without permission.)