Just Go And Be A Friend
A poem that we can all relate to with the busy schedule we sometimes have. Our intentions are good but we just never seem to find the time. Let this Christian
poem written by Greta Zwaan inspire you to make the time!
Christian Poems
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Just Go And Be A Friend
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2018
I want to serve You Father, I want to praise Your Name,
But often when I speak, I know my deeds are not the same.
I’m full of good intentions; I want to do what’s right,
But with my busy schedule, my plans oft’ times take to flight.
I know what You are saying, my neighbours need to know,
But I get oh so busy, I haven’t time to go.
You see, it’s this committee, these meetings I attend,
When we are training others to witness to their friends.
They’re really good instructions, they tell us what to do,
We must not lose our focus; this story comes from You.
But then we get to chatting and soon the evening’s gone,
We set a new agenda when the meeting can go on.
We mustn’t make an error, we need a foolproof plan,
We can’t say,
"I’ll befriend her, I’ll do the best I can."
But God, it isn’t working, I have no time to spare,
When I come from my meeting, my neighbour isn’t there.
Then God tells me a secret,
"Just go and be her friend,
Forget about the meetings, for they will never end.
Just use your natural talents and let her know you care,
Fancy words won’t help to serve you, just let her see you there.
Have a cup of coffee, hear what she might say,
If she shares her problems, tell her that you’ll pray.
Be yourself, be loving, and she'll see Me in you,
It’s not that complicated; this method’s tried and true."
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Prayer For Today
You may also enjoy this poem by J. J. Thorne written to a friend:
A Few Words Of Greeting
Poet: J. J. Thorne
In my feelings low and small,
I desire a word to all.
Friends we are scattered over the land,
I can't see your face nor shake your hand.
But to many- a word I can send.
Through the medium of my pen.
Dear friend, don't deem me a lie.
Because you have not suffered as I.
I would not the peace of my soul sell,
By composing a lot of lies to tell.
Trouble have destroyed my natural rest,
They are more than ever expressed.
My heart and mind could never print,
My pen could but scarcely hint.
As to what I have suffered in my life,
My hapless lot, grief and strife.
May God give you a home on high,
And may you never suffer as I.
When I die I do pray.
To meet you where all is day.
May the Lord ever condescend.
And bestow his blessings unto the end.
If my poor wretched soul is lost,
I hope I feel that God is just.
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