My bones can feel it.
The cusp of a new season.
I am in transition.
I know where I am coming from, my steps are not hard to retrace.
But where am I going?
I have neatly packed the bags of my soul, they are placed by the door, and I wait.
What am I waiting for?
Ah, the question of the hour, the day, the month.
Waiting can be fun for a while, exciting even.
I come before Your throne.
Not with boldness today, the walking of the center isle allthewaytothefront.
I feel at ease in the third row from the back, the middle of the pew.
Close, but within reach.
Distant, but very much present.
My mind whispers to what is me and says "unpack your bags, it's going to be a while"
Where is the resistance coming from?
Is it You?
Is it me?
The sinking of roots, it sounds so... stable.
And I have tasted, and I have seen, You are good.
And You are all I want.
And the tension comes from burying what I have found in You and going to market.
I want to sell.
To be sold out, for You are my treasure.
My bags are packed now, I am ready to come away.
But I am missing it.
You are all I need.
And in the silence, I get it.
Coming to You naked now, I am walking the center isle.
On my face.
Before Your throne.
Undone, unhinged, still scathed.
I get it.
Cover me in the blood, I want to be made whole.
I want You and only all of You.
I offer what I have, that is me.
From death to life.
From loved to loving.
From me to You.
May I never be anything less than in transition.