Show Me Your Glory

I sit in front of my bedroom window.

Head bowed below marvelous light

I keep daring myself to look up into

for longer than I’ve allowed these

tears to fall before my feet. I’ve come

inside my inadequacy, my smallness.

Last night, a whisper blew gently

upon my ears, finding way to touch

my tossed turned heart: You are not

forgotten. A nasty lie I’ve taken from

the father of lies, hearing my mind

usher me to declare with this tongue.

I am. You are. Over and over. First to

third person. Jesus, I am sorry

I want physical, tangible touch of

Your love. I take You at Your Word:

You are close the brokenhearted,

saving those who are crushed in

spirit. In quietness and trust shall be

your strength. You will fight for me,

I need only be still. You bind up the

wounds of the brokenhearted. A

father to the fatherless, who takes

me continually by my right hand,

singing along to the only cry I’ve

come to know: my own self-inflicted

darkness has become my only

friend. Won’t someone rest my

worrisome, wearied body inside their

arms? Put a finger to my lips, tell me

I can breathe. Tell me I can be a

child. I can mistake right for wrong,

but your love will remain. You don’t

have the heart to condemn, as I

throw every stick & stone to bruise

my clean slate complexion. Tell me

no height nor depth will keep you

from spending time I furrow receiving

because I fear its receding, to hold

my hands. Stare down the welling

windows revealing my soul. Do not

let me pull, nor look away, as you

say, Nothing is wrong with you. I love

you. This is the truth, yesterday,

today, eternally. I’ll stay until ever

after for you to believe.

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2 thoughts on “Show Me Your Glory

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