I played chicken on the tracks
for thirty-two years.
Stretched my leg along
the lip of the edge.
I was homesick for a home
I couldn't even fathom,
didn't even know I needed.
If I saw a woman on the street
I wouldn't recognize the God-in-her,
but a poor, forsaken soul
in need of help.
Thus: I was looking at myself.
When I opened myself to God
there was a WHOOSH, a huge exhale
of holiness, a great voice saying
you belong with me
not at the ledge
and suddenly I knew, I KNEW
my steps had been backward,
away from truth and divine love.
I inched closer to him, like a baby to
a new father, ready to fly
under His wing.
I had to smile at the WHOOSH. That's the word that a friend and I use occasionally when referring to the Holy Spirit.
ReplyDeleteSounds like Mr. Whoosh got ahold of you. :-)
BEAUTIFUL!! Well done, my friend. May this bless many.
ReplyDeleteWow. :) This is amazing writing. And it's the story for many people who run from God for so, so long--I'm glad you're giving them a voice. I've suffered from depression, too, so I'm coming back soon to read more. BTW, congrats on your piece being spotlighted at THC!
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