carljohnsonsite

My husband asked me to write down what I shared with him, about this poem. The Lord gave this poem to me while sitting in the swing on the front porch, praying. There was an urgency to run in the house for pen and paper and write down what the Holy Spirit was saying. He spoke quickly, so quickly I could barely keep up as I frantically wrote this poem down. I said all of this to say, please pray for the prodigals also. Keep on praying for them if you have been and if you haven’t, please begin. Now is the time, this is the hour. Pray they would respond to the Spirit’s call and return to the Father who loves them so:

Prayer for the Prodigals

Bring them home, O Lord,
Bring them home.
Those who have shunned your presence, bring them home.

Whether for a season of sin’s pleasures,
Or stubbornness of heart,
Grant them sorrow and sure turning.
Bring them home, O Lord,
Bring them home.

Cast your net, O Lord, wide and deep.
May your hand of conviction
Rest soundly on hearts,
May your tender cords draw sure and strong.
Bring them home, O Lord,
Bring them home.

May their lamps once again
Shine bright as before.
May their hearts be entwined with your own.
May their giftings be used
To glorify the King
Bring them home, O Lord,
Bring them home.

Use this pestilence
to turn on the light once again,
To shake foundations
And awaken to life.

To cause a yearning to return
To the Father’s house;
To safety, to hope,
To Your love and Your might.

Bring them home, O Lord,
Bring them home.

How kind of You, Lord,
To create for us all,
The seasons of the year.

How thoughtful of You
To so kindly provide
The changes, that now are so dear.

Each season is beautiful,
In it’s own unique way;
Like the hands and the faces of man,

Like the flowers of the field
Like the birds of the air,
Like the beautiful trees of the land.

Fall is my favorite,
By far than the rest.
Its beauty surpasses them all.

Fall’s a moment in time,
To look back and give thanks, Lord,
For Your blessings, both great and so small.

Fall’s cotton fields are white,
The breeze is so cool,
Refreshing the summer weary soul.

How grateful I am
For Your heart that’s so kind,
To bless man must have been Your main goal.

Grandpa winter lays
His beard on the hills
In the form of the white, sparkling snow.

And tucks the earth in,
For her long winter’s nap
As the frigid wind does constantly blow.

Like clockwork, Spring throws the covers back
And the earth
Awakens from sleep.

Joy, in the form of flowers,
Springs up.
Green grass sprouts forth, ankle deep.

Sweet showers prepare earth
To welcome the sun,
Summer gardeners preparing to reap.

Summer’s fun brings childhood to mind.
Memories flood in
Of bicycles and blue summer skies.

Once again, my heart celebrates
And I say, thank you, my Lord,
For sweet seasons, that bring tears to my eyes.

Nelda Johnson. Copyright 2020

Author: carljohnsonsite

Prayer For The Prodigal

Seasons