I love to write and I always have. Whether or not I am any good at it is besides the point, because it has always been a way in which I can process everything that is in my life. Good, bad, ugly, or even just an overflow of what is on my heart goes on paper through stories, journaling, or poems. But recently it seems that God has me in a season of learning to use my voice. To speak up when needed and to share when inspired to do so through the Spirit’s prompting and that has been a terrifying and amazing season to go through. But as a result of being in a time where I am learning the value of my voice, I also have not been able to write much. Mostly just a string of painfully sounding, frustratingly incoherent sentences (if anything). But so much in my life has been happening. Some very painful, some incredibly wonderful but none of which had I been able to process in a way I had been so used to and valued so highly.
And then about a week ago, at the height of some pretty irritating, hurtful, and frustrating events I sat on my couch BEGGING God to let me write. A few words here and there came. A sentence. Then nothing. I remember sitting alone in the dark pleading, thinking that I desperately needed to voice what was on my heart. The problem was that I wasn’t even quite sure how to put into words what weighed on my heart and what I did know, I was in doubt of.
I am often surrounded by people who seem to so easily pour out verbal praises with such richness and longing for a beautiful God and although I find it purely wonderful they are able to do that, it almost seems inevitable that I become frustrated with myself. Inwardly I wonder, “what’s really on my heart that my own praises seem to stick at the back of my throat? Am I not really in love with God? Am I going through the motions? What if what’s on my heart really isn’t pretty?” And so the stream of doubt would continue, and I would walk away in complete doubt of my relationship with God because if I really loved Him, then wouldn’t it be so very easy to verbally vomit words of praise in a group of people? So that’s how I found the condition of my heart as I sat on my couch. I knew something needed to come out, I could feel it bubbling and painfully coming to the surface I just couldn’t seem to get anything out. Frustrated, I pleaded “God, if you won’t let me write, will you at least help me write?! Please, I’m begging.”
When nothing came, I decided instead to find some sort of comfort in the bible. So I opened it up and found the story of Mary who let down her hair in such a shocking manner, poured out her perfume on Jesus’ feet and wiped it up with what I can only guess would have been very gorgeous hair. I began to think about all the implications of this story. What must it have been like to be her? To know that what she was about to do would be so far beyond the propriety of her time, maybe even dangerous. What was on her heart was made very clear. She was totally and one hundred percent wrecked for Christ. When she looked at Him she was so overcome by His presence alone that all she could do, all she could think of was offering to Him what she did in such scandalous manner. I think Mary may be one of my heroes. She must have seen in Him a sanctuary. One she could walk into unashamedly as a woman and find absolute rest and peace. I am writing this little introduction, if you will, so that what follows is perhaps made a little more clear or maybe it needs no explanation. It’s fine with me though if it is not, but I began to blissfully write without thinking. Without doubt, fear, or even through a filter of my own frustration. What is really on my heart was made clear to me. That’s where the following poem is coming from and I am only posting it here because I gave my word that I would after processing this with a couple of dear friends. Thanks.
This is my sanctuary.
Within the confines of your limitless love I gaze into deep, everlasting pools of grace.
Mercy.
And sacrifice.
It’s there I’m free.
Free from the expected dance of black churches painted a white mask.
From propriety.
Societal expectations and confrontation.
In the boundaries of Your will for me, I’ll dance a wild dance.
I’ll scream a vicious, bold statement of extravagant, deepening NEED and desire for my God.
I’ll let down my hair in the most scandalous manner and pour out what’s left of my cheap devotion upon Your feet.
Under the weight of revelation I’ll strip off the rags I once deeply cherished.
Bruised and battered I’ll stand naked and raw before You peeling back layers of a hardened heart.
Face up, arms stretched wide.
With every fiber of my being I’ll attempt to grasp the reality of the freedom that is mine with every drop of blood that hits my head, trickles over my face and down my shoulders, showering me in righteousness.
This is my sanctuary.
Chaos dissolves into perfect peace when there is only You and me in a lover’s embrace.
Here there’s no such thing as a cheap romance.
Your presence is my Sanctuary.
