The Genesis of a Warrior Poet

09/26/2014 – 22:46
I have chosen, this day, whom I will serve. I have enlisted in the ranks of those who have chosen likewise and consequently died. Their deaths have been daily, gruesome, and unimaginably horrific. Their reputations have been spat upon, mocked, and beaten to a pulp. They have died lonely deaths, only to arrive home in time for a standing ovation.

These are those of what one is called a “Warrior Poet: an absolute nobody who is fully and completely yielded to the all-consuming command and rule of the absolute Somebody. A champion of all Truth and a guardian of all gentility, meekness, affection, femininity, and grace.” I have, this day, prayed in full faith that I would be granted to join such ranks, knowing that such would come to pass, and the acceptance letter came swiftly.

The mustard seed has been planted, and although it has yet to flourish, it has already begun to grow. An infant tree has been birthed, and as sure as the sun shall rise, it shall grow to bear a cross-beam, and soon-after, me. Positionally, I have been crucified with Christ for years, but as the saying goes, “Holiness is in right action and courage on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves. And goodness – what God desires – is here and here. And what you do every day will decide if you are a just man or not.”

This being stated, the true right action is ultimately this: to take up the cross. And today, my once lukewarm and cultural-driven feet have now felt the dusty, gravelly, and blood-soaked road to Calvary. Splinters now pierce my fingers, forearms, and shoulders, but such pain pales in comparison to my imminent fate: death.

While most veer away from this temporary fate, it is now my reasonable duty to valiantly embrace it. My heaven-driven love is provoked by an infinitely greater love which shall usher me through the flames of unwavering obedience to God’s Holy Word. Such flames shall burn hotter than I can humanly bear, but shall bring me forth as gold.

Much to my previous dismay, the ranks of Warrior Poets have been forgotten. Their war cry, the Gospel, which once victoriously roamed the field of battle, has been tuned out by the majority populous by whining, whimpers, and pats on the back for “unconquerable” re-occurring struggles. However, my acceptance letter was clear and concise:

“Welcome. These are the ranks of the few, the brave, and the despised. You are at war. Your war cry is the Gospel. i.e. you are on the offensive, for to be at war means one thing: kill or be killed. You do not compromise with, deal with, or bargain with the enemy. You defeat the enemy. Your weapon, protection, sustenance, lifeline, and everything in between can be found within your General’s Holy Autobiography. Meanwhile, you are granted the inconceivable privilege of staying in constant communication with your General, which is of the utmost importance to attain the means and end of victory. Victory is not merely the end, but is also the means. Being a Warrior Poet means more than swinging a battle-ax; it means to embrace affection in all it’s pain and promise, and being intimately close with your Lord, Savior, King, and General. Do not be discouraged when you fall, but remember that, ‘A just man falleth seven times and riseth up again.’ The General is pleased to have you. Carry on.”

With my name handwritten in my General’s blood at the top of such a letter, it is only fitting that from this day forward, I choose the narrow road and the less beaten path. I expect very few to approve, and even fewer to accompany me. However, I shall no longer heed the voices of those who dare not follow my General’s footsteps, for I now heed the marching orders of Jesus Christ alone.

I am, this day, a mustard seed which shall grow into a great tree,
And here marks the beginning of a Warrior Poet.

Matthew 13:31-32

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