Your Work

I’ve always sung songs about You. I can see You imagined in my mind’s eye, time over and again, in the different words and ways which people have used to represent You.

I used to think of You with more angst than I knew. I used to think of You with a tighter fist than the hands that I see now. I used to think You were mostly discouraged about us, wondering with arms crossed against Your chest that You should do so much good on our behalf and still find us lolling here in sin.

What I see today has thrown away so many songs, so many straining attempts to reach You because the moment I finally looked up, I found out that Your hand was already covering mine, that the full weight of Your affection was already gathered up right in front of me and You were just waiting for me to notice.

I love You. And I love Your work, so notorious for coming in and turning up tables that were never supposed to be there in the first place; so notorious for finding the lie that blended itself in to the truth and pulling it out of there, even if it came out kicking and screaming. That’s what Your words are like: they are like dividing light. Shadows become plain because You shine them out of hiding. Twisted things that clothed themselves with words like truth shake when Your words come in the room. They’re gettng ready, getting ready now for everything to be uncovered.

Your work sucks the poison out of our blood –

– and for a moment I think it’s painful until I realize that the lie was what was killing me all along. How could I live a second longer in any land outside of the lush place of patience and thanks? How could I help but sing like a kiddo again when You’re my Dad? Your care for me has been just beyond my reach, so perfect and skillful, and I’m growing up into knowing it; knowing just how wildly and fully and freely I have always been loved.

Samantha

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