Tell me that it’s easy,
To rise up each morning at the break of dawn
To set your knees in that spot in the mat
With the perfect grooves made from wear;
A testament to the consistency with which they carry
The weight of your desperation and dreams.
Tell me how you’ve gotten used to the familiar aches –
The pain of the strain of holding a position
That under different circumstances would be called corporal punishment;
Hands clasped underneath chin,
Elbows scraping the edge of the bed…
But none of these compare to the aches
That rampage in places the eye cannot see;
None of these compare to the screams that no ear hears –
None, except One.
A day dedicated to love –
Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s for the abuse of love or its celebration.
The Love I know is blood-red and disfigured,
Lacking the sweetness of chocolates and the beauty of red roses.
The Love I know is naked and priceless,
Its value hidden in virtue, not in the price-tags of fancy red dresses.
Worship is me – good ol’ me, lying late and rising early
Thinking and writing about worship at the break of dawn;
It is you reading my words and reflecting on the nature
Of the worship you’ve offered and desire to offer.
My muse is a beautiful maiden, the most ravishing demoiselle;
Exquisite beyond description; Wise beyond compare – without peer;
Her smile carries the sun, the moon, the stars, every source of light;
Her words are soothing, sublimely subtle,
Poignantly apt, incisively noninvasive, completely compelling;
She is the perfect picture of contradictions dressed in paradoxes,
Crowned with the ultimate enigma, surrounded by barely unveiled mysteries;
Her steps are silent, even the dust isn’t disturbed if she wills it so.
She walks with the grace of a majestic feline,
And the stately elegance of a sunrise.
“This is an ancient call framed with the urgency of the times;
Don’t stagnate; Don’t give up; Don’t drift from Me; Don’t hide;
Do not trade the sounds of Heaven for profane babblings;
Do not leave your post, discard your armour, or forget your place.
“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.
“Growth is a humbling experience, and pride is a symptom of immaturity. Let us grow in humility, because there’s no other way to truly grow. For as pride goes before a fall, so does humility go before a lifting.” – Makafui.
“Come to Me, with all your cares and burdens;
I am able, and desire to give you rest from all shackles;
To take away the stained wrinkled rags that cloth with shame;
These chains you carry do not befit My bride.
Draw close to Me; Abide in My presence patiently;
I want to share secrets and mysteries with you;
Wait on me to receive all that I have for you,
Gifts I’d prepared since the foundations of the earth.
“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.