Am I too plain with you God,
leaning into converse with my Master
over chai tea?
I delight in your presence.
Hold your secure hand like a child as I explore your
nature.
I sob and pour out my heartache as
if you are my best friend.

Should I grovel before
your throne, weighted by the
the burden of all I have done?

You are Creator of the universe,
Lord of the harvest, King, Sovereign,
Judge. Your robe of titles drapes across your pedestal,
demanding holiness.
Your throne is established in the heavenly realms.
Your footstool, the earth.

I should tremble as I enter your
throneroom in prayer,
but yet,
I trace your face in the image of my children.
Experience church in the embrace of my husband,
Recognize your rich provision in the
worship song of sparrows,
and draw near to the Holy of Holies in scripture.

Jesus’ love tore the veil and developed a familiarity between us.
You know my sorrow and put to death
the limitations of sin. So I push
open the
massive doors of separation as a joyous child
running barefoot into the arms of her loving Father, Savior, and Friend.