Terrance Tracy

(October 11,1947 / Port Arthur Texas USA)

Where is My House


Does a house make a home or does the edifice stand alone; do people constitute a home, as a residence with the evidence of a house is a home.

Humanity has built cathedrals in which to worship their God; forgetting their promise that their reliance is on God, and yet we are purchasing insurance for the blessed assurance our portfolios will give us care if we wisely invest in their share.

Trapped in the paradigm that we refuse to resign remiss of God's design; "Heaven is My throne and earth is My footstool but where is the house that you will build Me? "

Where is My place of rest so I can invest, for all these things exists; My hand has made providence and all these things exist in abundance in the nest of your heart.

A philosophy not easily understood nor given a chance for the Lord to enhance our standard of finance; our works may have been born by works of coercion, a failure to build Him His house an excursion to a residence that lives only in our hearts, that is the house we are to build as a place of a rest used as a nest where the finest love transcends as a dove.

Reliance on your gifts that sift through one's mind in the realm of bargaining for God's favor is where the salt has lost its savor.

Giving to get, is a house built in delusion an abomination that has invaded the minds of administration of thought with battles to be fought; for our Lord has cease to honor because when He called no one answered; when He spoke no one heard; all one has is the Lord's vacated words because the house was built on a weak foundation; without the relation of the love for a house born of one's heart to give without a condition is the place where we build his house void of one's expectation.
Terrance Tracy

Submitted: Thursday, August 07, 2014

Topic(s): poem


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  • Freshman - 1,112 Points Mary Angela Douglas (8/7/2014 7:47:00 AM)

    a radical reliance on God I don't remember where I heard that phrase, but it shines through your poem and what more can you say for a poem than truth and beauty meeting in the same place. What you are speaking about is very real. In america we are often trying to have faith in both God and money. But God is greater than money. Money is the source of nothing. God is everything. When you start to live this truth even a little the doors swing wide and as I realized through several evictions, God is my home. I am never homeless. Thank you for a faithful, shining poem. (Report) Reply

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