Threads

I'm here again, in Grandma's sewing room, the golden sun sinking through the blue, and I'm listening to Mandisa, "You Wouldn't Cry." She talks about Heaven, and being "Home" sounds so good. Not talking about my physical home per se, but my Home. That place where I no longer try to wrestle down the past, where I'm not filled with bullet holes of failure or maybe just the regrets and the feeling of not being good enough, where I'm with Jesus . . . where all of the yuck, all of the disgusting, all of the crude and cornered pours out, where I recognize the full extent of His Love and the strength in His arms. But for today, I'm stuck within this restless twilight . . . the darkness is behind and this murky morning is rising from the east. I don't know what to do. But maybe, just maybe . . .

. . . it's now. Now that I listen to my own words spoken on graduation day, the being still, letting go, sinking deep, relaxing, quieting myself. And knowing that HE, that You, Jehovah, that YOU, Protector, Provider, Best Friend, Father, Life-Giver, Deep Healer, Shepherd, Judge, Creator, Star Maker, that You, YOU are God. You are in charge. You know. YOU KNOW! [hallelujah] And maybe You can heal the deep stains in me. If You healed the woman with the flow of blood, could You heal me from the flow of myself? The flow of apathy, self-worship, self-hatred. I KNOW You can. Please . . . where are You that I may touch the threads of Your garment?