You - with guiding hands -
motion my knees to kneel
and raise up my hands
to embrace Your face

and Call forth the words
that lay on the tip of my heart;
absorb with thirsting ears,
my praise, my laughter,
my concerns, my sorrows,
my love

You - with guiding hands -
draw forth from crevesses
and ravines of a mountainess
soul, hidden shadows that cumbersomes
the journey into Your Heart

You cannot reflect intregity
nor identify purity since
you have not inimately known
the face of these persecuted
sisters

perhaps I am a maiden
who sits in ivory tower
and sees You approaching
battlements, and knows
You cannot come in
unless I unlatch the door..

For the door is handleless
and yet, You knock...

and I don't even know
how to comprehend
the "what" we have between us;

I tiptoe cautiously
around this inkling
in fear that I may
awaken thoughts
that will jump a neurone
and race towards a pathway
that will lead to an action
that will lead to a possibility
that neither of us
are entirely sure
we want to step into

I have my creeping notions
that we are Janusing one
another on the "what"
that stands between us;

You don't understand;
It is a slow quiet steady Love
that invites Itself in and
makes Its home in your heart
and it's not that loud,
consume-me-love that
They keep demanding
keep making up songs
about

We make our own mistakes -
pave the path of experience
with His blood, and
at the cost of His life
we are polished as diamonds
refined as gold

Granite and grooved
or carved from clay
I stand as a vessel
and wait for the
rain

empty of innards
pushed out with
His help
I want emptiness
to drink of this rain
with      one      big      gulp

May  I fellowship with you

in My Jesus; let us break

this body together and be filled;

satisfied;

May we drink deep of Him

and share this vessel with one

another;

A House of Broken People

Its a shelter of oxymorons
made up of bodies
and a 'logy that
spans a few millenium

labelled as a place
of perfection when
in reality it's a space
filled with broken
bones

Many stumble over
this tagging, stumble
themselves right out
the oxymoronic door,
and the few wise
ones, see it for
what it is - a
place of broken bones

And these few
come to share
the healing that
they see the Head
offer the broken body

and come knowingly
to this house of
broken people, this
place of broken souls