Posted on June 20, 2018 | Posted by Annie Saunders
I forget to speak Your name.
When I do, often it’s in vain.
I push Your words to the back of my thoughts.
I dilute myself so others won’t know I pray to the Cross.
How must I appear to You?
Silly, prideful, ignorant.
Meager half-thoughts offered up as brilliant.
In my daily doubts and failures–I forget to say Your name.
I pray too little.
I love conditionally.
Despite my shames, setbacks, and wrong-doings–
You reveal Yourself to me.
Not when I angrily demand it.
Not when I seek it in forced silence.
Not when I dig through books of revelation.
You’re there when I break.
You’re there when I sing.
You’re there when I write, or dream, or see a beautiful thing.
You arrive on Your terms,
and when You do–
the moments of certainty, clarity, and elation,
outshine the Thomas, the Peter, and the Saul.
When I say Your name,
it is more than everything.