and done so well.
Time spent on Godly work? Tick!
A goodly gift of many golden hours.
Talents used, as all can tell? Tick!
Your strong, creative, much blessed soul
enriches all the fellowship.
Teacher of the truth? Tick!
Such clarity, such charity,
such style, such wise yet simple words.
Indeed you have come far, so far.
As far perhaps as from your door
to your front gate, with but a trek
around the world to go.
As far as the marathon's starting line,
the check-in desk, the booking page.
Do you not know what is required?
A purging of the poisons deep within,
the pride with talons in each cell,
the anger festering in your gut
the age-old grudges sapping all your strength.
Will you accept the surgeon's knife,
lie paralysed and terrified
while all your secret shames are brought to light?
Can you bear the purging of your pains,
the scourging of your buried fears,
the outing of your angers, lusts and hates?
Do you dare believe that angry you,
that twisted, deviant, tarnished, nasty you
is lovable, is loved?
Do you believe that tantrum throwing child,
that bullied bully, worthless worm,
is worth redeeming, worth a mother's love?
Don't dare to think I died for well-dressed you,
to keep your masquerade alive,
to save you from the crumbling of your pride.
I took the scourging and the piercing thorns,
the hammered nails, the drowning breaths,
and all for you:
you, the battered, broken child,
you, the shamed, self-loathing worm.
Will you dare brave my touch?
Allow my arms to wrap you to my heart,
my hands to gently salve your wounds,
and wipe your tears away
and meet your fearful eyes?
I seek the true child cowering within:
that is the hell I dare to harrow,
that is my passion's quest.
