A Poem – The Jobs

The Jobs

by Jerry Johnson

I saw, as in a movie screen,
The wolverine-like beast
With two sets of black bat-like wings,
Red beady eyes,
Sharp, hand-like eagle talons on all four feet,
Snarling and drooling
Thru vicious needle-sharp teeth.
Something I could not imagine.
The beast flew down out of the movie
Snatching from somewhere
A little, defenseless baby bunny,
Flew back into the movie
To nonchalantly do
What I couldn’t imagine:

Gripping the little bunny
By the nape of his neck
It sunk a set of talons
Into his exposed chest.
What I couldn’t imagine:

It ripped flesh and bone with twisting talons
Just enough
To inflict the most pain and torment,
But not kill the furry ball.
What I couldn’t imagine:

With no remorse or reason,
With no emotion,
It dropped the wounded bunny
Like wasted tissue
In the garbage can!
What I couldn’t imagine:

It flapped its four black wings again,
Down out of the movie:
Returned again
With a little baby fuzzy, duckling.
What I couldn’t imagine:

He did the same, merciless thing again:
Maiming innocent little creatures senselessly;
   Over and over and over
In the movie.
I could no longer stand it!
I “willed” myself into the picture screen.
I “willed” a dagger into my determined fist…
…As fast as I could move…
…Was extremely slow motion.
What I couldn’t imagine:

It just ignored me
As I struggled dreadfully slow with the knife.
When I finally got the point to the beast’s chest
I plunged it in with all my might.
What I couldn’t imagine:

I pulled the blade out
presuming some success. 
I might as well have pushed my finger in a pillow!
And the mauling beast just disregarded me
As it continued on its horrible way.
I stopped the horrifying movie
Like a nightmare.
I lay on my sweat soaked pillow
Stunned and terrified.
When I finally caught my senses
I asked:
“Lord, I think you just showed me something.  What was it?”

“It’s not your job to go against the devourer.
That’s My job.
It’s your job to help the rabbits.”

This I saw in the movie,
and I
testify of
The power of God
And His redeeming love,
And His everlasting mercy:
Spread abroad through our hearts
To the downcast
The broken
The weak and wounded souls,
The Jobs that God allows into our lives.
This I didn’t imagine.
P.S.:  You know the sorry reputation of Job’s comforters…

© Copyright, 2004 by Gerald T. Johnson. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

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