A Call for Transformation

Father,

I do not understand

What it feels like

To be one of your treasured creations.

                                   

The disconnect

Between my true value

And the actuality of the crude metals—

Laced with poisonous words—

That I frame myself with

Proves to be the insuppressible fountainhead

Of my professed worthlessness.  

How does it feel, Abba,

To live free of demonic doubt

Turning words or actions of love

Into witnesses to be interrogated—

Every leading question points

Towards my own insignificance.

God,

How can I acknowledge your infinite worth

And forget the dust that composes

My mind and bones—

How can I see you without feeling shame?

Guilt, Father, guilt!

Show me when I am not perfect—

What I have done wrong—

And the flaw of my sin and shortcoming

Crushes the joy out of me

Like the coils of the Leviathan.

Abba,

Do you see me?

Does anyone see me?

I feel so…

Forgotten.

Christ rescued me from my sins,

But who will come to save me

From my hardened, breaking heart—

Shards of stone piercing ever deeper

Into my pre-existing pain.

I am Your light,

I am loving—

Yet the sun shines

Even for the blind man

Who cannot see him.

Why God?

Why do I feel

So faceless, so meaningless…

So unlovable—

Who wants to hold the glossed vase

Filled with burning acid?

O Mighty Father,

Where are you?

Do you love me?

Does anybody love

This catastrophic mess of sanity?

Abba, Abba!

Take this uncommon water,

Turn me to wine—

From this pitiful basket

Of a few loaves and fishes,

Satiate my groaning stomach

With measureless endurance.