The paper crumples in my fist as I,
with face so near the window, glare ahead
into the soggy, dark-cloud, rainy day.
The car pulls towards the street, away from me.
The teasing laughter of last night escapes–
That teasing laughter that kept me awake.
With bitter glee, I snicker at myself.
My heart crumbles or stumbles half-
awake each time a sleepless party ends.
I smooth the paper ball. Some words were lost–
Erased or smudged by rain or teardrop dew.
I cried when I could not release my friends.
But words that lived through Storms still intercede.
I scribbled for myself. My prayer escaped.
Unspoken thoughts had moved my pen. My heart
wrote “Love” for me. This paper moist and blurred
now somehow, though a cursive scrawl, reflects
the thundering God who’s one and three. But God. . .
He came, a man like me. His breath that made,
created life to be– it giggled, cracked, and laughed around a sizzling fire. God
was once a boy; felt small when he watched stars
and moons were full. He felt the pain of thorns,
the pain of thought, there spread upon the tree.
But me. . .my love all smashed up like the paper
I hold all crumpled in my hand–that love,
how can it come from Love both one and three?
My eyes look up. I know His life in me
makes love that’s wrapped in Him and free. A cost
so great I could not pay. My Savior, crushed
became a torn out page, destroyed and wet.
And on day three He conquered death, unfolded
His crinkled Word that became flesh. He rose
up through the clouds to live in me and me
in Him. I grab a pen to write the Word.
In joy I take a sheet with lines like scars,
and write out “Love” now with a body new,
alive and resurrected. The rain still pours,
but now I know that even this is life.
His Love will sanctify love convoluted
and change me soon. I smile at the rain.