My Book of Uncommon Prayers: Words Fall Flat

Apronhead

012 - Copy

When I feel the need to defend myself to the universe,

words fall flat.

There are never enough words to balance out the weight of weakness, the sting of sarcasm, so why not be content to let criticisms fall where they will,

knowing that Maker picks them up and carries them in His own woundedness.

But

somehow I feel like my limping justifications and explications carry more weight in the bigger scheme of things.

But

they only fuel the contempt railed against me. So

I will rest—help me rest in You.

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Of the Desperate

Apronhead

551 - Copy

Brushing the robe, halting hesitant,

two fingers barely touched the hem—

desperation

bleeding pain and disappointment for years and tears.

It was a desperate touch, a face-to-ground, weighted-down touch.

And in the moment He knew, and I knew.

In the jostle of swarming feet, flying dust and flailing pleas,

insignificant me,

me on the fringe,

gripped the fringe of his garment; and in one moment, the tiny thread that held me tethered to life and hope became sacred bonds of the everlasting,

and I was healed.

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