I am not unlike the words of a spoken-word artiste;
I am a work of art, and not a simple one at that…
But what I truly am, I cannot confidently guess.
I am what I cannot completely define;
The product of a Master beyond constraints;
A thought from a creative Mind without confines
And birthed in Love from Hands perfect for every work.
I am His breath trapped in a mould;
A divine spark merged with an earthen work of art
In a mystery beyond unravelling though born in Light.
Lord, there’s a thirst in me that can only be quenched by You;
My soul yearns for You, like the deer pants for the water-brooks.
Every minute I spend away from You is a minute too long for comfort;
When will I find myself before You, my King?
As I wait night after night and day after day,
I’m compelled to feast on my tears shed from excessive longing.
My soul cries out from within me
Every time I lack awareness of Your presence –
Whenever I find myself asking where You are, Lord.
Because I remember, in times past (that seem so long ago)
How I used to go with the saints, and led them into Your presence
With such joy, and with praise on my lips, keeping my date with You.
“What would it take to make God laugh?”
The question strolled humorously through my mind.
If there ever was a ‘drunken’ thought, this was it.
Looks like my muse is on a cruise – vacation blues.
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“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.
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“I have loved thee with an everlasting love,
And I have stretched thy boundaries,
Even as I have stretched the heavens,
Wheresoever the soles of thy feet toucheth…
I have blessed, and who curseth?
Art there divinations and enchantments that do counter Mine words?
Will Mine ears hearken unto the calls that plead thy downfall;
Or will I smite in sore anger Mine tabernacle of Grace?
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“”Why then testeth thou me Father, when thou already knowest that which is in mine heart?”
“The test be not for that I may know, my child, but for thee (and all witnesses) to realise and acknowledge that which hideth in the deep recesses of thine heart, that Mine righteous judgement be unreproachable.”” – Makafui.
Are there words enough,
To describe the works of His hands;
To list and ascribe the honour due Him
From ages past to the very next breath?
It is not a matter of length,
For even in every single breath,
Lies an enigma simply stated, but utterly confounding.
Are there words enough?
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Father, I’m parched.
I’m thirsty, when by all indications I should be drowning.
I’m famished, when I really feel I should be utterly stuffed now.
How is it Father, that ripples on these waters still rattle me?
Why do I stumble now, when I was doing alright just a while earlier?
How am I baffled now, when I felt I understood this not long ago?
Father, please, help me; For it would be a shame to get lost, in such familiar territory.
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There is something that I need to see,
Something I need to write.
Is it beauty, or glory;
Maybe grace personified?
The countenance of kindness,
The colour of wrath,
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What does it mean to be called a child of God?
What price is enough, to be called by His name?
I may not completely understand the depth of the mystery;
I can definitely not afford, and am unworthy of bearing the cost;
But I am called by His name, by the working of Grace.
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Makafui's Journal 