Ripe grain rippling under scarred and calloused hands.
This year harvest will be full of dancing,
mouths spilling wine in laughter….the heart of creator and created mingling mutual feelings of satisfaction.
Sunshine beaming between each frail stalk bending in the breath of heaven and earth –
Content.
.
content.
the word bends over me like a shadow in the dark while im asleep beneath my blankets –
Frail.
dreamless.
oh lovely dreamless life where i dont exist
when
.
i wake
.
already my heart is calling you.
Searching for the tar to fill the empty pits in my heart –
.
Rent.
my heart rent – and rending still.
like old fabric
still catching my unswallowable tears…
i crawl far into the smallest space i can find to shut out the screaming
and i beg God to take my life.
.
i imagine if i dont exist then i cannot feel the way i feel.
or maybe if i am gone then the sea will become calm.
.
i beg.
.
i beg.
.
i beg
And i know that i dont have to beg
but i beg and the waiting seems to lengthen the space of time a day takes up –
i beg
.
Give me relief.
Distress seizes me and throws me against walls
that maybe i have built myself…
– battered i cry “have mercy on me!”
.
I am made in the image of the God of all creation.
.
Creation.
.
Creation which contains a hundred million little wonders but I
I am made in the makers image and when i rise and speak i hold the power of life and death
and yet
when i walk and when i talk
what is this trash rolling out of my mouth?
Can i speak like this and not let go of my own glory?
.
Like a bride in chase of – what?
I lift the edges of my glorious garb and i run into the muddy lake laughing like a drunken fool –
for a photo.
.
He stands in the setting sun
The last rays lighting him up like a golden statue and his face is locked in a look of absolute love and confusion.
.
i leave the lake
laughing
mud smeared high on my thighs.
i brush hair from my mouth smearing mud on my face
and i lift my face for a kiss.
.
confusion
.
his eyes gaze into mine with confusion.
.
his voice is hoarse, and broken.
“come unto me, you, who are weary and burdened, and i will give you rest.”
.
He pulls off his white vest,
his calloused fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt,
his rose corsage has fallen into the mud around his polished shoes,
he strikes the rock and water gushes forth,
he lays out his shirt so i can sit,
then he kneels,
and he washes the mud from me,
and i can see his heartbeat in his neck –
it thuds against me.
brokenness.
.
He lifts me close to his heart and carries me home.
i cannot fathom the depths of this mans heart.
.
glory to shame.
glory to shame.
.
delusional desires.
they swamp me.
they fill all my restless searching engines.
.
i hear a voice singing
while i sleep,
its singing over me
before i said a word
before i took a breath
he was dreaming over me
.
my friends ask me as the twin towers fall in a cloud of dust that fills the street like a funeral stopping traffic –
They ask me.
they ask me about the one who pulled me from the mud, and washed me, and carried me
Built for me
home.
.
as they watch
the towers falling
their mouths gaping
disbelieving
.
they doubt my story.
.
they doubt good will ever be seen
after seeing something so horrible as dust returning to dust
.
how
.
how the dust stabs his heart
.
much more than we will ever know
as a hundred thousand million prayers wrench him from his sleep…
the little boy sits up inside the simple dirt dwelling and his heart is pounding fit to explode,
his hand clutches his chest as sobs roar to break free – hyperventilating –
he squeezes his eyes shut, but still all the faces and prayers and realities rush into him unbidden…
his hand folds up on his shirt, twisting it in his grasp- and the sobs jerk through him like a rope uncoiling under the weight of a falling anchor
.
splash!
.
sobbing silently,
biting his lips to hold the sound back,
“Father, i know you hear me! I am willing!”
The sweat glistening on his face
like blood in the dark
.
the morning light falls thru the slats of the house on his bent and weary head,
he has interceded on their behalf thru the night,
he stumbles from his blankets, out into the cool morning air and he gathers some sticks and a basketfull of leaves and reenters
crouching
his little hands forming a careful little pile…
he starts a fire for his mother
enjoying the musky dusky smell of the fire.
.
the fire lights up the dark circles beneath his eyes,
he knows that peace is his,
if he wants…
“i want,” he whispers to the fire
and it leaps up like waves to the bidding sky.
.
i lay down
at night i thank God for sleep
as i fall
fall
fall away from every worry
Into his ceaseless song.
