She says, are you feeling okay?
Absolute concern coming
off her tongue, proceeding a follow-
up to my yes. Why are you laying like
that? My body is curled in question
mark form. Rigid. Stiff. Pointed.
Sharp. Period. I don’t answer. But,
you’re okay, right? Yes. I say,
nodding appropriately. I think I lied.
I couldn’t bear saying I don’t know
how to trust Him. Jesus has hidden
His face. Or, I’ve gone more blind.
What if I am cast off forever? What
if I’m doing His will of sitting still
horribly wrong? I’m hungry, not for
the oranges placed in front of me
this morning, but to sit with this Man
who you claim makes me
depressed. Today, a promise
He made, to keep me strong so I
may dwell in blameless friendship
when He finally brings me before
arms everlasting, has me thinking.
What a horrible friend I’ve been,
giving not a second glance His
direction. He says, Darling, how are
you? I hesitate, wanting to say what
my heart keeps waiting to dispel:
I miss You. The way You seem to
sigh unforgettable breath each time
I sing my only hope is You.
My portion and my strength is never
work I complete, a check list You are
sternly to be boxed in. I’m drawn to
show how worthy I am. Not to be
still. Let Him blanket me without
needing tremble as if I am in wrong.
He loves me, this wayward child,
roaming land after land for approval.
I’m the prodigal son and his brother,
staying right where I am, but aching
to spend all of my father’s wealth,
and still be seen special.