Friday, May 30, 2014


Lord Jesus, meet me here. On my bed.
Feeling sort of embarrassed, unhinged. Straw-stuffed.
Quicken me. Float me in Your river.
Be the gentlest mist to soften my skin and help me feel again.
Be the storm whipping me ragged.

What I really need is not sex, but it is love.
I need to trust Your love more. I am terrified to trust You.
Do You see how ridiculous I'm being? How contradictory
and mean? Pound this meat with a mallet! Drill all through me,
saturate and dissolve me. Cleanse me with hyssop.

Open, open, open all the dusty shutters. Sweep this place out,
air my thoughts and feelings and tired bones. Hang sweet-
smelling herbs inside. Show me I'm alive.
Make me alive, sharp as cider vinegar.
I love this life. I love the bigness and variety of it.

And the closeness and specificity. I love color
and touch and smell and taste - Jack's sauce
on a wooden spoon. The soft shadows cast
in my room. The bagpipe-drone of distant
lawnmowers. The pleasure of scratching an itch.

And I wish, I wish, I wish, to be wet all through with rain.
To be rocked in tree boughs again. To hold hands
and not care that I'm sweaty.
Knit me, Lovely, deep into Your vine.
I want to feel Your sap mingling with mine.


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