#137

December 6, 2011 § 6 Comments

Lord we stand
in circles
holding hands
in circles
but it’s not
each others’ palms
we’re clutching at.
It’s amazing there is
even room
for their fingers
in my hands
so full of broken
glass
We clasp
at shards,
filleting skin
slicing open windows
to combat
doors you’ve closed
We wear silver scraps
of mortality
like jewelry
wrapped around our
fingers, wrists
that we wish
for you to fix
but we won’t
give
You
any of our
precious pieces
to work
with
These pots
we’ve spun
of earthen clay
are cracked and we just
ask
for You to fill the holes
we’ve made
We will scream
and plead
when we still see
the seams
of all the imperfection in our
so well-planned
masterpiece –
I made my blueprints so
carefully, Lord –
I know what I am doing,
where I am going – so
why won’t You
come with me?
Look – I have everything You need
already
Can’t You take these pieces
and build a life for me?

If only we could see
You waiting
patiently
with a different
puzzle box
entirely

“Child, why
have you tried
to design
your own Perfect
while trying
to promise
your life
to the Architect?
I am the Potter,
your pot is leaking
I am the Healer,
your hands are bleeding
I painted the puzzle
you can’t yet see –
your pieces don’t fit, so
hand them to Me.

Drop hands
in the circle
for tonight,
dear friends
I ask
you to raise them
in surrender
instead

Leave glass
for the Lord
not just
at His feet
but right to
His Hands
patiently
outreached

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