What a gift.
He invites me to walk with Him.
Not behind. Beside.
What does He see within my waters?
Surely He knows I can’t do it apart from Him.
I can’t, and wouldn’t if I could.
The Champion gives up His gold to run with me,
one who falls back.
I’m close enough to touch His robe.
Will He know my touch, that it is mine?
Will He feel power moving out of Him
to take faith’s feeble hand?
Will I be changed on contact?
The miracles. My God!
They move my soul to wholeness.
Will He weep for me in death and raise me up in Glory?
Will I believe and anoint Him with my life perfume?
Will the scent of it be pleasing in His courts?
The palms. I would like to lay down more.
Please, God. Make evil miss.
Help me not betray.
He wants to wash my feet.
I hide the dirty parts of me and deal with them alone.
But He washes, all the same.
He offers Kingdom wine.
Blood-red. Too fine for my being.
My lips touch the Cup.
I kiss the spike wound in His Flesh.
My soul grows full on dead Death.
I can’t go with Him there, can I?
I am so weary and afraid.
Afraid I never believed at all.
The sound shakes my inmost part.
His agony is real to me.
Forever in a moment.
We are scattered, each alone.
Will I deny? Can my eyes lock in His gaze?
I cannot walk His way, the way of Death to Life.
Too weak am I to bear a cross.
Can I be a Mother’s son He cannot be, for Him?