Zachari’s Song

Lost in the middle of a great big wind
My heart is on the fly
Then I heard Your voice and it’s drawing me in
I think I’m gonna cry

I heard mercy, on the wind
I heard freedom, calling… when

My heart is drawing
I will follow
Now I’m kneeling down

I am Yours
I cannot help me
What a thing is life to me?

Freedom found me
I must follow
You are life to me

I cannot
Help but listen
You are all I have

I stand up
My eyes are glisten-
ing I cannot see

Here’s my cross, Lord
give me a road
as I follow

I am not alone

Author: KB French

Formerly many things, including theology student, mime, jr. high Latin teacher, and Army logistics officer. Currently in the National Guard, and employed as a civilian... somewhere

One thought on “Zachari’s Song”

  1. A couple of years ago, I was at a homegroup meeting for students at MorningStar School of Ministry. It was the first meeting of the school year and all the students were explaining who they were and where they came from and so on. On of the students, named Zack, had a testimony that particularly got my attention. He was the son of an Assembly of God pastor and had done the traditional preacher’s kid thing. That is, he had been a rebellious, superficial jerk for most of his life. I’ve forgotten most of the details of his story now, but I remember especially his testimony of how he got right with God again. The church was having a series of powerful revival meetings of some sort. You know, the really scary ones? The ones where kids go sort of as a joke or because they’re forced to, but then when it’s all over their lives are so completely changed that their old friends don’t want to hang around them? That was the sort of meeting this kid was at. He said he was just sitting there, minding his own business when he felt what he described as this wind coming up behind him and blowing through him, and suddenly he was weeping. I could tell it really affected him, beyond just the fact that he was now arduously attending a ministry school of the “crazy people” sort. I could see the fresh tears on his eyes again as he spoke.

    This poem was sort of a spontaneous response to his story. I gave him a copy. I don’t know that he was that impressed that I had reduced his life change into a few measly words, but he had an impact on me and that’s my standard response to that sort of thing. Nevertheless, here it is:


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