Declarations from Time Spent with Him
By: Krystal Woods
Eye to eye
that’s how we are.
Yours are like fire;
mine are fire seeking.
So close is your face,
Your breath I can feel,
sweet, soft, and strong.
You never leave,
but I will.
I’ll forget this moment
when we are face to face.
I’ll forget the power
that is in your Presence.
And I’ll turn from you
and try to live in my own power.
You know I’ll be back
and I know it too.
But I still leave;
I don’t want to but I do.
This has been such a long season of hard.
It just never quite lets up and I’m tired.
So tired and I don’t like it,
so in my weariness I turn from you
and try to make progress happen
You won’t let progress happen
when I turn from you.
Your love is too perfect for that.
You want me back,
face to face, breath to breath.
So this progress I seek,
I’ll never be able to achieve.
I confess I’ve tried and I can’t.
I’m worn, bruised and busted open.
I have launched myself like a battering ram
against this season of hard and I have lost.
My mind, my peace, my clarity, all lost.
All casualties of my self-possessed default
of high expectations, control and perfectionism.
I give up,
at least I want to.
I don’t quite know how to give up.
It’s not part of my sinful, human nature
to release what is in my hands,
in exchange for what is in your hands.
And that’s what you want
open and willing hands.
I turn back to you
and can see hands that are open and willing
to take from me the high expectations, control, and perfectionism
I place on myself and those around me and even YOU.
I want to let go,
Show me how.
And so you do.
You take your open hands, with fingers strong and gentle,
and begin to pry open my tightly clenched hands-
one finger at a time.
I look up and your eyes of fire
are looking straight into my eyes.
Your breath, ever light, on my face again.
Into your hands you place mine
and we rest.
Your spirit hovers over my hands,
like it did all those years ago over the waters of the Earth,
and the pads of my fingers begin to roam over your hands.
I feel deep crevasses
in what seems to be a pattern I don’t recognize.
But then I make out a K, and a R,
and oh yes, there is a Y,
and a S, and a T, and then an A and a L.
And I am undone because I can now
see that your defaults are nothing like mine.
I want to give you my defaults in exchange for yours.
Your defaults are full of self-sacrificing love for me,
a love that engraved my name on the palm of your hand.