I am that box in the closet that falls out when you open the door.
I am the weak battery, the last of the ink, the broken wind chime.
You won’t find me on the learning curve because I’m not there yet.
To be honest with You (how can I not, O Lord?), without Grace
I am less than that, not even fit for the wolves.
The only thing I have left is my love and belief in You, Lord.
You are more patient than I deserve, more attentive, more loving.
If You cut me loose I would sink to the bottom, where I belong.
I am not worthy.
Instead, You wrap a silken robe around my weak body,
You kill the fatted calf and prepare for me a feast.
You give me a key to the front door; You bring up the best wine.
I do not understand all this. Surely You must be mistaken!
There are bound to be whispers, I will be escorted out,
The dogs will lift their legs to me as I lay in the gutter.
Instead You smile, lighting up the world and my heart.
“You believed in Me,” You say softly,
Your Spirit moves like a brush fire through my soul.
“You did not see, yet You still believed.”
We walk in the garden, and I am drunk on Your Love.