“I want you to see Me when you look into the mirror,
That you’ll never be in doubt about who you are.
I want you to ask for more of Me,
There’s more of Me to go around infinitely many times over;
But there isn’t enough of you to have two masters;
There isn’t enough of you to seek Me with divided attention.
“I want you to smell of the incense of purity;
To be the sweet smelling fragrance of excellent sacrifices;
To be the spices that make the unique blend for the oils
That perfume My tabernacle and pervade my temple.
“Alas, the choice was made –
Irrevocable by the edicts of free-will.
Though it broke My heart many times over,
I watched as you left, dejected yet prideful;
Such pride as is borne of ignorance and presumptuousness.
I witnessed the corruption of perfections once more;
Took in at a glance the full extent of the cracks and flaws
Skillfully injected into My impeccable design.
“Forgiveness is the subtle miracle that arises from the juxtaposition of grace and truth. The truth can be so difficult sometimes, but grace can bring such liberation. I wish to have a vice-like grip on both, because I hate the feeling of being in the deceptively accommodating prison of offenses.” – Makafui.
I’ve been charged with being unworthy;
Unneeded, unwanted even before birth;
Destined, not for this life or the next;
Overstaying my welcome; Overextending my reach;
Overestimating myself; Misappropriating resources;
Underplaying my flaws; Overemphasizing Grace.
I admit that I’m guilty;
But guilty of nothing but being loved, wanted, saved,
Appreciated, needed, understood, celebrated, precious;
Guilty of having to leave too soon; Underestimating myself;
Under-using Grace; Abusing my strengths; Hiding behind my flaws;
Sabotaging and badly misjudging the extent of my reach.
If I had the opportunity to choose my own father,
I wouldn’t choose him because of his wealth,
Or because of his looks – not colour, hair, gait, height or weight;
I wouldn’t choose him because of how well read he is, but for his wisdom;
Me calling you ‘father’ is a heavy responsibility I lay at your feet,
Which you take with grace.
Like incense, let the fragrance of this sacrifice of worship rise
Beyond the reach of my voice and words, even my thoughts and imaginations.
Like rain, let Your blessings fall on this parched existence I call my own
Soaking deeper than I can reach, enough to overflow, spread and stretch
Further than I can see, or hear, or broadly estimate, much less predict.