A Poem About Judging Others


For in the same way you judge others,
you will be judged...

Matthew 7:2



Music playing is
Just As I Am
Performed by Acappella
Text written by Charlotte Elliott in 1835
Original melody by William B. Bradbury in 1835

Charlotte Elliott, in her early thirties was living in her father's London vicarage when there came to stay an evangelist
Dr. Cesar Malan of Geneva in Switzerland. Observing her restless and unhappy state, he asked about her
faith: Had she come to Jesus? After some hesitation she admitted, I do want to come to him,
but I don't know how to come.,
Come to him just as you are, he replied. She
did so and found peace of heart.
- www.songfacts.com



God's Holy Place

It's Sunday again, and I'm on my way to hear all the things that God has to say. My very own place where no one can see... Each week I am there by my favorite tree. I watch everyone as they're walking in, with dresses of silk and suits for the men.
I know they are blessed. It shows on their face. They're happy to share God's holiest place. I wish I could go, but I don't belong. I couldn't shame God with clothes that are wrong.
As I wait to hear the pastor's sweet voice, these dark clouds appear: I must make a choice. With thunder so loud, and lightning all 'round, I run to the church through rain pouring down. I open the door, so quiet and slow. I'll stay in the back so no one will know.
As I turn around the silence was there. Heads turned one by one. They started to stare. The whispers I heard had hurt even more. Especially the one I heard by the door. How dare she come in to this holy place... Her dress is just rags, with dirt on her face.
I thought to myself, How cruel they can be! As I watched each one just staring at me, I felt so ashamed. My tears start to fall. I clung to my dress, not moving at all.
When I turned to leave I heard someone say, Please join us my friend. I've prayed for this day. His hand covered mine. As I turned to see, the pastor had tears in his eyes for me.
He led me up to the very front row. And whispered God's pleased. You don't have to go.
The carpet was soft as clouds in the sky. I saw paintings of the angels that fly. Such colors of red, bright silver, and gold. Yes, this really was a sight to behold.
Unworthy I felt to be in this place. And then my eyes saw the pain on his face--A statue of Christ that stood very tall. Mistreated by man, yet died for us all.
Then, I had noticed the dirt on His face, and rags that He wore, in this Holy place. I looked at my dress--so ragged and torn. Yes this was the best that I could have worn.
The pastor then smiled when he looked at me. He knew this was what I needed to see.
His thought for the day when church was all through: Judge Ye Not Your Brother, for God Will Judge You.
In silence they left. He said no good-byes. Then he came by me with tears in his eyes. He said he was glad for his answered prayer. I knew then he'd seen me sitting out there.
Then on my old dress a white rose he laid. He made it all worth the price I had paid. He said, Don't you know? It's God you must please? What's deep in your heart is all that he sees.
He held my hand tight, then wiped my last tear. He said, Please come back. You are welcome here.
While walking back home cold rain on my face--So much like the eyes in God's Holy Place. I know now I'm rich. Yes, he made me see, God even will love a person like me.


- by Freda H. Babinski -


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