Ph: Oklahoma: One Man's Miracle Poem by Brian Johnston

(The Man Who Proved That God Is Real)

You told me you just want to know God exists,
Oh dear heart, I promise it's true,
I just worry the person who proved it to me,
Might not be sufficient for you.

I was young and that alone might give you pause,
Perhaps six, or seven, or eight,
But I had not professed my faith, that much I know,
My elders believed I should wait.

My miracle started quite innocently.
At Christmas, a party was held.
There were three different age groups I seem to recall
And riotous outbursts were quelled.

From the 'five and dime' we all brought back our gifts
That cost us a dollar or so.
The day of the party was quite bitterly cold;
The ground it was covered with snow.

A boy that I liked, one year older than me,
(Who really had paid me no heed) ,
Was going to be there. I bought his present with care
(Anonymous gifts were decreed.)

I guess that I hoped God might alter the rules,
Let Ronnie suss which gift was mine,
Just how God would accomplish this I didn't know
But for this I surely did pine.

But when we were told to line up for our gifts
'Keep quiet! ' I knew all was lost
For our bad luck had placed us halfway from the tree:
My dreams were about to be tossed.

I just had to tell Ronnie which gift to choose
But doing so cost a dear price
For we both were exiled to the end of the line
Friend gone on the roll of a dice.

I made sure, you see, to save last place for me,
So sad that my friend shared my bad.
Can you believe bad luck didn't end with my dream
(Though Ronnie the last present had) ?

Devastation was surely etched on my face,
Crying I ran out of that hall
Has mankind ever known such disgrace as I felt
(Wanting only to make myself small) ?

The church basement was nearly dark as I ran
Into classrooms filled with small chairs,
And finally found one that looked safe, I could hide,
Behind boxes they used for repairs.

The basement had many rooms used for classes
But none of them joined to a hall
Doors connected each to each and so to pass through
You simply must pass through them all.

The door opened wide, and not used to the gloom
He suddenly tripped on a chair.
I stifled a sob, God did his job, and the Man asked
(Still not seeing) , 'Somebody there? '

He turned on the light and getting a fright, said
'Why Brian, my boy, are you here? '
In that place, on the floor, I made confession to him
In his embrace, shed many a tear.

Without a word he placed my small hand in his,
Led me gently up a small stairs,
A turn, more stairs, his office I knew lay beyond,
In terror I prayed then all prayers.

I thought the he was going to whip me you see,
My punishment not yet complete,
Instead at the half landing he opened the door,
Our steps leaving tracks in the sleet.

The parsonage those days was next to the church
A large garage lay right behind.
And God when I saw that we were headed for it
Again terror rose in my mind.

But when we reached it he opened the big doors
And told me 'Get into the car.'
It started, we backed out, and smiling he added,
'Don't worry. We aren't going far.'

A drugstore was open and we went inside
The gift that he gave me reveals
(Even though he, my pastor, was only a man)
How meeting God face to face feels.

In Honor Of
Rev. L. O. McCracken, Woodward, OK, First Baptist Church