Tuesday, December 13, 2011


Dark and quiet.

Early and soaked.

My mind is saturated with thoughts of You.

I poke.

I give.

I tuck in.

I listen.

I hold hands.

I bestow what I know.

I care.

I think of You.

I am the perpetrator.

I am that person, in the bed, that seems impossible to care for, care about.

Far from deserving, I am silent at the thought of experiencing Your grace.

You know how to love each and every one appropriately.

And You love me so well.

You are my Good Father.

You have prodded me with Your message of hope, joy has wrecked my story.

You have given me life and life abundantly.

You have tucked me in before and behind, and I am beautifully made.

You listen and respond, I am still quiet, undone by that reality.

The lines of Your hand have been memorized by my heart, You hold me close and never have I doubted Your company.

Your Spirit fiercely brings me to the realm of the holy, pardons me with the knowledge of You.

As I close the door at night, hands fresh with sanitizer, I know that I care because You cared first.

None can be before You.


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