“The dark’s no enemy. Even in darkness it is God whose hand is leading you, God whose right hand holds you. Be still. Be very still, and listen. Silence your hectic mind. The night itself is made for the lonely, for the Spirit breathes in silences and in the dark...Make little of yourself, and nothing of all your need. Sleep is the self gone small, and the Lord shall swell around you...Thou art a grain of sand, and God the sea. Rest in a refuge and in a bosom of strength.” Walter Wangerin, Jr.
Love, I have drawn from the scabbard the unsterile blade that pierced your side, as I cast my lot for your humble linen clothing. Your terrible voice, rasping in pain, called forth a forgiveness unexpected, unasked. And in the midst of strife and hatred, we have found you, the antidote of loathing that seemed to be our squandered inheritance.
Love, in the unquiet longings of my heart, in the wildness of my being, in the unruly dark side of me that I have tried so hard to push away, to deny, repressing, I lay bloody, beaten, bowed. In the quiet, steady rhythm of your heartbeat I have hushed the fever of my soul, and my delirious agitation come to a stand still.
Love, your gentle presence, overflowing with a mercy, unoffended by our trite and clichéd half-hearted attempts at praising you beguiles us. We sway in the unforced cadence of your grace. Our inner voices screaming with untold horrors finally turn into murmurs of adoration, of raptures that are now our own.
Love, I have drawn from the scabbard the unsterile blade that pierced your side, as I cast my lot for your humble linen clothing. Your terrible voice, rasping in pain, called forth a forgiveness unexpected, unasked. And in the midst of strife and hatred, we have found you, the antidote of loathing that seemed to be our squandered inheritance.
Love, in the unquiet longings of my heart, in the wildness of my being, in the unruly dark side of me that I have tried so hard to push away, to deny, repressing, I lay bloody, beaten, bowed. In the quiet, steady rhythm of your heartbeat I have hushed the fever of my soul, and my delirious agitation come to a stand still.
Love, your gentle presence, overflowing with a mercy, unoffended by our trite and clichéd half-hearted attempts at praising you beguiles us. We sway in the unforced cadence of your grace. Our inner voices screaming with untold horrors finally turn into murmurs of adoration, of raptures that are now our own.
Comments
I must admit that I became teary-eyed after reading your latest entry.
I used to write like that too. Reminds me of being truly faithful to the Word, now that I am cloaked by depression.