Art is public confession, but it is speaking in tongues. So the communal act is in search of an interpreter. I've been looking through the journal for the last few weeks, and I ~confess~ a bit of aprehension at posting. What do you see/hear here?
Coming down to the ground
Grit under nails
Hoarse cries and the limits of flesh
Not shallow
Deep full and rich life
Something to ponder
Something to marvel at
To keep you up late at night
Scratching your temple
Live of die
Survive or thrive
It rests on the Lord
As do I
No intermediary
But the wagon is full
We'll pick more up along the way
Set course, hoist sail, on the way
Not naive or proud
But with strange assurance
Hope
Trust
Fear
Awe
And rapid sobs bulge my eyes under clenched lids
I'm not good enough
I'm not up to this
I'm not holy enough
I'm not entirely his
I need to be
I want to be
I want to be
I need to be
And He says I am
So I am
Please
Please
Please
Have mercy?
Empower?
Sanctify?
Give Wisdom?
Don't Leave
That's it really
God, Don't Leave.
I'm lost without you and I can't be lost
They need me not to be lost
They deserve me not to be lost
Here Lord, Have my faith.
3 comments:
I love you. ;)
If you have the faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to the mountain "move" and it will move. I really liked your words--very honest and real. We just come. Jesus does the moving in us. And it is all for Him.
I believe! Help my unbelief!
Post a Comment