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Poetry: Searching

Do Your Thing

"Do your thing"
Is what they said.
And first time through
It looked to me
Like THIS IS IT --
The source, the key,
The way to really come out free.

I tried it
Sort of casually,
Unconsciously, I'd even say,
By simply following my nose
To act my feelings, serve my rights.
I'd do what seemed appropriate,
I'd taste the tastes and see the sights.

Why did it all become so drab?
And why this empty sense inside?
I'm doing it the way I want,
Why can't I have the joy beside?

A troubling word stuck in my craw
And forced me to examine it
Until I recognized its worth,
Until I saw the pieces fit.

Was what I lacked,
The free man's basic founding fact.

To "do my thing" WAS SLAVERY,
For every choice was forced, you see,
By fickle appetites, unruled
By anyone, unruled by me.

Obedience could make me free,
Just it alone, 'twas in a sense
A secret of the universe --
The freedom of obedience.

But still there's more,
Beyond the fact,
Obedience to whom, is asked?
To kindly benefactors shown
Obedience rewards its own.
But that's like clinging to the prod
Designed to spur me on to God.

Obedience I long to give
The One who made it in me live,
Against whose worth my life is priced,
Obedience to the love of Christ.

Ross Olson

Send comments to me at ross{at}

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