Jesus, my Jesus…
My heart feels hardened this morning, crusted over. Within me I sense a stirring, a fluttering, as my soul strains and kicks at its self-imposed chains. I sense you here with me, open to me—but something holds me back, something dead and angry and frustrated. Something not me.
I will not fight it. I will let go of it, starve it through deliberate neglect.
Call to me, to my Lazarus spirit, asleep and needing to be roused. Call to me, and I will come forth.
I step out of the tomb, naked, exposed, fists unclenching, peace washing.
I am yours. Undragon me, undress me, let me shed this ugly skin along with its fleshly claws; let my Christ-self push free of this cocoon, may I stretch my glory wings—fragile, free, marvellous.
Emotions stir as I melt like stiff chocolate in a pan, my coldness giving way to the delicious taste and smell of surrender.
I don’t want to feel strong today. I want to feel weak, beautiful in my brokenness, strengthened by your Spirit within.
Have me. Take me. Own me.
Tongues of ache and passion roil up from my deep places, move my mouth, find the air and fill my life space with soul. You seep in now, coming to fill the place of what darkness lurked there—oil and balm and wine and light for my spirit’s bosom.
So many days I have wasted, pushing my way into your presence, instead of stopping long enough to let you break into me.
And break out of me.
Your hands settle on my shoulders, anchoring me in humility, filling me with purpose, pointing me North, moving me forward.