Wrestling with Your Wonder

Imagine me, so shy and shaking, rising above my fear and daring to dance with the flashing of Your eyes. Were I to lift my chin with certainty, could it stay stoic and brave?

 

I have humbled myself in the dust, knowing my place before You. At one light kiss of air I could disintegrate into no existence, pulled away by Your power. But I have been created in Your image, and seen as good. I am part of Your people, painted into Your world and placed with purpose to fill the vacancy void.

 

I must be worth something. You must see me as more than cunning claims me to be. I am Your child, and as such I can be sure You want what’s best. Which means I can make my way through a bruise-filled night where a pressing pushes in around me, and I am held by iron hands. I can push back and bring a turning tide towards the dawn. And though I am weak, I will hold steady to the truth that You listen to my requests. “Bless me,” I will mutter, mutely at first, because I am uncertain myself at what I ask, but my heart will strengthen and grow grander in its gusto. “Bless me,” I will repeat, louder, steadier, matching the rhythm of my heart. Because You are good and have come to claim me as Your prize. My hands close around your coattails refusing to loosen because I believe in Your blessing, that it will fall upon me and shine like the sun.

 

I will receive your inheritance. I will be firm in step for following You. And I will come out touched and changed for holding You to promises You have held for me until the perfect time, after wrestling with Your wonder.

Done