By Johne Farley
Don’t ask me to explain for you, how one could start again. How hardened hearts could soften like a child.
Don’t ask me how to reason out the mysteries of life, or how to face its problems with a smile.
Don’t ask the man who’s found the way through tangled roads back home to stay, when all communications were destroyed.
Don’t ask the child who’s walking now, who once was crippled then somehow his useless legs were made to jump for joy.
Don’t ask the one whose burned out mind, has been restored. I think you’ll find the question not important as before.
Don’t ask me if he’s good or bad; I only know the quilt I had is gone, and I can’t tell you anymore.
Don’t ask me how to prove to you, why I know God is there, and how I know that he could care for you.
Don’t ask the child who’s got a mother to love away the hurt he had, before this man called Jesus touched their lives.
Don’t ask the ones who fears have fled, whose churning heart was quieted when someone whispered peace to all her strife.
Don’t ask the man to tell you more. Whose life was just a raging war inside himself until the savior came.
I don’t pretend to be so wise. I only know he touched me eyes and nothing else will ever be the same.
Don’t Ask
