I wake up to a buzzing phone.
Not as incessant as bees or flies,
but persistent enough to pull
my attention open for this day’s
I scan the screen,
the familiar greeting of an old friend
capturing my gaze.
I echo back this sentiment
we’ve traded over times
both unsure & joyous.
I can’t help wondering why
she has been compelled to talk to me.
Day after day
I find my words becoming
how overwhelming Your love
touches the timidest souls —
mine always coiling the tiniest bit
at the thought I deserve this.
I want to tell her this.
I want to make these key strokes
matter more than this stale hey
we let dictate our conversations
open-ended topics of football, resumes, etc.
I won’t hide this truth:
I don’t understand why.
You will show Yourself.
I’m sorry I become hasty,
despairing because I know she’s lonely.
And there have been days
I have felt caring hands take
hold off of me.
I cried, doesn’t anyone love me?
I’m in a hurry
to rush her into welcoming arms,
hoping, wishing, pleading change
will come break her open.
A floodgate of tears falling
finding You standing by,
unlike my moods
or footsteps pointing
to, then away from helpful.
Have mercy on me.
I was not born with Savior as my title.
She belongs to You.
As I do.
I only long to give her friendship,
though thank you may never come.
I’m sorry I’ve demanded such a request,
when I struggle expressing my gratitude for Your death,
so I could aptly name the salty taste
found on my quivering lips as I speak,