Jesus? May I?


Jesus?

I sit here at this laptop, a vision bouncing ‘round my head
to write a prose to you that shows your grace, beauty, and strength.
But I’m tired and I keep typoingt ypos, over and iver again.
And you know what?  I’m not going to correct that above,
because that really was an accident.

I know, I know.  “Nothing’s new” I heard the wise one once said.
No thought, no word, no deed has the sun not shone itself upon.
Looking down, looking down upon my filthy rags, mocking and burning,
mocking and burning.  I just need to get this out!

Oh, Christ! Will thou not enable me to write these words?

He won’t.

Some may say I’m attempting some not so subtle display of irony,
trying to be original, profound, or cute; noting the use of prose to Him
as my medium for my diatribe on not being able to write a prose to Him,
but it’s not.

These words are nothing, they are filth, not fit for the King I serve.
No edits, no plans, no thoughts or “brainstorming” went into this.
Just the feeble cries of a broken man, wallowing, drowning, fighting,
losing.  It seems.

The weight of people not yet known – their souls upon my shoulders.
The sin I bear upon my back, the doubt that grows within.
I’m lost.  I’m depraved.  My futile thinking, my hardened heart,
my ignoble desires, my Glorious King! the One I have! the One I need!

Oh Christ!  Oh Sovereign Lord!  Be the God to me You are!
Oh that my tongue were loosed with the tongues of angels
to say all your Grace could say!

Let my soul take flight! Rise me into Thy Love!
Faster.  Faster!  Make me only Thine!  I need it!
I must! I lust, covet, and gluttonously gorge myself upon
the Grace I so desperately need desperately. . .

desperately.

And even with that, I end this now, not having said
what I wanted to say – what I needed to say.
Your Grace did not come, or at least in the measure I hoped.
This burden thus stays, this wineskin won’t burst,
this angst will continue to grow.

But I know, in the quietest parts of my soul, those deep whispers
and silent voices, echoing within:
my Beloved is mine and i am His, and His Grace is at His whim,
for if it were up to me, I would not need Him,

and it’s in my need I have Him most.

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One thought on “Jesus? May I?

  1. I’ve found my heart many times in the same place.

    this is where I’ve found the Lord wants us to “preach the gospel to ourselves…” we must talk about this sometime…

    but lovely expression.

    Like

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