There is this constant gnawing deep in my soul, a not-so-gentle reminder that nothing is right unless I am Yours. It's amazing to me that I've walked with You so long that I hardly know how to function apart from You, and yet, I am constantly inclined to run away, ashamed of the nakedness that I cannot seem to cover, no matter how hard I try.
I long to be covered only when I am with You, far more than I long for that in the presence of anyone else. You're not a fool, as so many men are. You see through the cheap gimmicks I use to divert people's attention from my nakedness with my desperate and pathetic attempts to be perfect on my own.
You see through me from the start, unimpressed and uninterested with my filthy rags of righteousness. You are and always have been much more interested in the girl behind the gimmicks, the girl I cannot bear to present to You without some sort of song and dance.
How can it be that You're so interested in just me? Dance, monkey, dance is not Your gig. You could care less what I have to offer if it is anything beside me, myself, and I.
Humbled once again by this revelation that is old and still yet so new, I ask You simply to
Break the strings that are bound to me
That keep this marionette dancing.
Wipe away the rouge that hides
The cheeks that would be otherwise tear-stained.
Wash these feet that tire from running
And set them gently before Your own.
If I am to run, You should always be my destination.
No comments:
Post a Comment