maybe I am drawn
to the blood–come
as you are, You whisper,
don’t be afraid. Abba, I am
weak, a bleeding broken vessel,
who has heard You search out
Could I be the one
You place on Your shoulders, rejoicing
home: I have found her! ?
Would I shudder as I do when cold
goes through my bone, as I watch
You gazing into my eyes?
Would their be a twinkle-
the same in my grandpa’s-
as I tell You, nothing was
the same, is now that I
receive the Benedictus?
The song of Zechariah,
where Your truth has caught
me in anticipation–I’m coming
to save you, you’ll get everything
you need! But hear where I sit on
this bed, my body fading
sleepy. I so hate consequences
for my hell bent runnings to fear
& doubt & wonder. So I tell you,
just one more thing, let me do
one last task, then I’ll rest. But
this world is trying to walk on
water, without You. Pummeled
by wave’s demand: oh, you
think you can conquer me alone?
Guess again! – we slip under,
choking on the seed of faith
we thought we had.
The mountain before me,
I could cast into the sea
but my eyes go watery;
pleading: Lord, save me!
I’ve been in and out of sleep today. And reading The Day I Met Jesus, hence the poem. I’m reading the story of the woman who bled for 12 years reimagined, and I’m all: yeah, you go girl! Crawl on to Jesus!
And then I’m imagining myself and how I’d freak out if I touched His robe. How if He turned around and asked: who touched Me robe?
I’d bawl. Or shake uncontrollably. Or both. Because I’d think He was mad. Still do every time I read it.
But I also think He’d get on the ground and whisper: How beloved you are, My child. You are free. Go on now, your faith has saved. Peace be with you. And I wonder if I’d laugh joyously my thank you.
I love how this story is told from a grandma to her granddaughter. It made me want to ask my grandma when she met Jesus here and call her, asking: what’s a middah?
And she’d say, did you look it up? And I say, no, I’d like you to tell me. But I think today I’m getting why she wanted to read the bible without always asking her a thousand questions: she wanted me to get to know Jesus and let Him reveal Himself to me. In special ways as He has lately.
But I would probably tell her: a middah is measurement of life!! Woo!! anyway. Because I don’t think she’d care at all.
So dance on, grandma in the arms of the Lover of your soul and I’ll watch the ways He loves me here until I’m no longer looking in the mirror. But know in whole.