It is a Sunday while I was cleaning the yard of Saint
Mary’s cave,
Wind is flowing quickly, leaves falling everywhere any
corner
I saw Him sitting among the stones,
A candle light shined His face from a far,
Recently,
rarely people come and pray,
Its
cave looked quite worn,
It
took miles away to reach a hill,
But
there is the day when its place filled men,
They
came with relatives to worship and asked a thing,
From a far I saw Him bringing something,
It looked as a piece of paper; He’s noticed and read
seriously
And I am approached saying, “Father, what’s in Your hand?”
He’s
staring at me, “Son, it is a request list.”
You
are appealing some of request to me after communion,
I just
wondering why it has not a word to say thank for Me,
You’re
only praying, and none is telling how much they love Me,
None
is telling a grateful to what I give
Remember,
I died for love and arise.
I live
in you but you don’t realize that I need your love,
Sometimes
I hear you’re not convincing a faith you sow in your mind, heart, and strength
My
little son, I give all you need but accept consequence to what you’re request
for
So, beware with your pray cause
Where there is a request there is a consequence,
