Wednesday, March 02, 2005

The Call

He calls to me in the dark and
I am four and held in the strong arms of my father
We travel through the cold, starry night always together.
The church doors are open and light and warmth
Spill through the open door and I enter into a night

Of pure worship, encircled by my father's arms.
He places me among the bathrobe shepherds
And the tinsel angels that encompass the baby. I understand my
Purpose is to be here, in this light, in this warmth,
Circled in this Presence and together we worship.

I am seven and alone cower in fear in a dark closet.
My transgression is forgotten in the passage of
Time but the fear is not. For the first time I realize that
I share in the estrangement of God and man and that

Sin and judgment are my due. Punishment will follow and
God can see the cleaved face of my fear and I remember
The words of my mother and alone I pray the first time
Asking forgiveness. And I can leave that closet
Of Fear and shame to face not fear and death, only my parents.

I am nine and I plant a grapefruit seed in a coffee can.
I pray to God to see if he can hear me -- I test the Holy
And wait for a response that never comes. No green
Leaves spring forth. All that grows is doubt and

Now I don't know if there is a God. It would be years
Before I understood that without water seeds would
Not grow and sprout and that prayer exists to not live
In a vacuum, that prayer does not change God but changes me
And growth comes from the water of tears.

I am sixteen and shy and alone and alienated from my parents
With the depth of my teenaged angst. I cannot comprehend
Love or forgiveness or acceptance or value. Worth is only
Found in actions. Value comes only from who you are and

I cannot be until I hear the Word in a children's song and
Wonder if the Holy could actually love me. I hear the song of
Salvation sing and He calls to my heart together we
Take being from this and worth, value and I too begin to
Sing love songs together I/we become.

I am twenty and embittered by the word of that loving
Father who at four betrayed me with love. Called to love and
With love for the Holy I try to enter the taboo brotherhood and
Am threatened with disinheritance. I am not strong

Who could be and I reject all that is Holy and good and
Pursue that which is not. Anger and shame are all I can feel and
I run from that Song and reject the call of love to my heart.
I anesthetize myself and shatter against hedonism. The
Echoes of love are silenced alone fractured I become the void.

Over the years the anesthesia wears thin and my embitteredness
Dissipates and I hear again the song of my first love, my Jesus
And He woos me again forgiving all that had gone before and
He makes my spirit young and untouched. He knits together

My fractured bits and the scars are ridged white and my voice is
Rough unpracticed but yet now together we sing
And He calls again to my heart and I am forty two
Not ashamed to be. I am whole with Him. He calls me and
He encircles me with light and warmth together not/alone
And I am



friend said...

Wow. How beautiful to be 40+ and becoming...I love it, love it...yes let us always be becoming.

Anonymous said...

"And growth comes from the water of tears"

This hit my Godspot as MMM says. The entire poem was beautiful.

Thank you so very much for sharing it.

so i go said...

wow.. this is mezmerizing and absolutely beautiful. glad i found you out here.