Somewhere between presence and depression
I stopped being and started doing.
Repeated lies and nursed wounds.

I checked out of Hotel Truth and
checked into the flea-infested Motel Fear.
There was no room service. No one changed the sheets
of self-loathing and cynicism I slept in day after day. I drank the
amber whisky of my own thoughts and called the burn enlightenment.

The knock was insistent, acknowledging my existence. Disrupted my
pathetic pattern.

The knock reached into the shadows of isolation.
“Hello?”
The knock again.
I cringed as if hit. “Go away!”
I hugged the closest bottle like it would ward
off the intruder.
The knock again was gentle violence to my demons.

The barrier to my soul shattered. Painfully stripped of all dignity
I was afraid you would reject me.

You came into my filth and saw me. All of me.
You, Oh Lord, washed me, clothed me in righteousness.
Confusion doesn’t even begin to explain that moment. I was so
secure in my destruction. You were secure in my salvation. Everything
shifted. My worldview, my understanding of grace, justice, flesh. But I wanted
your presence. Wanted you to fill me with your light until I craved nothing else.

You came into my dark world and prepared a banquet. I’m invited! You’re invited! Come! Come and
see what the Lord has done for me!