Abba, I don’t understand how You turn me round and round even as You are watching me sink into momentary despair. I hear the whispers loud in my head: why don’t you give up? Did you really just talk about going to heaven now, but you don’t really want to yet? Shame. You have to hoard everything up for yourself, no sharing. Not getting you anywhere, is it now?
But You turn me toward You, Love. And I can’t turn away. The way You speak so gently I want to cry, but I stare at You.
today, i purge
myself from love
of stale words—
a wall across my room
holds a pile of what is
hardest to let go: words
i swear i’ll return to. call
me a silly girl, but they’ve
held captive my soul & God
no loner has room to move
about His home. i’ve closed
all the windows,
fmf prompt: hope. sometimes you don’t know how full your soul is until you’re going through books. the hardest thing for you to let go, even though you’re not reading pretty much any of them. and soon you have a stack above the base board, with your own book and magazine you were published in, all to get rid of. and only a shelf and a few books under the bed to keep. but you kind of want to get rid of every book and stare at emptiness for awhile. this makes me question Jesus: what is wrong with me? it feels easy, but it’s not. it’s like i’m sacrificing. that’s what this is. and in the fight, there’s a tiny bit of joy.
Fear. Abandonment. Loss. Nailed deep into the hands/feet of this man who took all our sorrow upon his brow. Begged his father, why have you forsaken me? But the silence befell the earth. And he knew, he had to go to save us all. And his breath exhaled eternal i love you.
Once, I was of this world,
wanting nothing more to own-
to be my own.
Oh, what a glorious day when a card arrived, green as my envy, straight to my hands, no longer grieving for things to fill my need-want, really.
I was grown. I could buy. I could spend freely.
I may sound like a fool to you, but money makes me weary now.
constricts around my heart, like the persuasive snake who dumbfounded Adam & Eve to eat that knowledgeable apple, leaving wonder to a sinner’s prayer: why can’t I reach Your light with greed charting paths, without giving way to my dignity.
Poor, I remember telling my mother, is what I wanted to be.
“You can’t live on the street,” she’d tell me quickly, rationalizing that was the wrong way.
Jesus found who were willing to be His disciples if they dropped earthly delights & taught them the delicacies of love
Here we are holding grass between stingy fingers, hoping our facade won’t turn dusty before a grave hushes agape mouths declaring their glory.
Your rags is where my–our riches should be placed, free of guilt for taking ourselves away from disillusioning spotlights.