A Prayer

My love,

You know.

You see the hopeless thoughts

of the heart—the thoughts

gathered out of an entire

being of longing—

the imagination can almost see

Your nose and eyes

and taste the ribs, so savory,

on Your table

and feel the tangible warmth

of Your love,

filling all that ache and emptiness.

You see my heart giving up.

I think to myself—

It wouldn't be a bad thing

to die.

It would be the best thing—

to finally be full.

You know.

Your rain clouds and lightning

roar above me—

and, a whisper,

“I made this good.”

You reminded me—

“I left that glory

for you.”

And you know about the dream

I had last night—first a dream where

I didn't have my passport

and I don't know if I could board the plane to Korea.

But then—another dream, with a tank

stationed

to kill and destroy,

the little girl I covered with my arms

as we hid behind a pillar

and explosion fire fumed and ate around us.

I had the rocket launcher with a bomb

that could destroy the tank.

The weak spot of the tank—its neck on top,

like a flipped turtle—I just needed

to crouch behind the door close to it.

But I was afraid of the tall men standing guard,

giants,

and I waited—seemingly too long.

A plane with a bomb rose and hovered over us—

another whisper, “Greater love has no one

than this,

that he lay down his life

for his friends.”

And I felt released from my fear—

I drew close and launched the bomb,

the tank began to break apart—

I woke up.

You know the morning tainted,

because all my heart wants to do is, unedited,

connect with Yours.

Words out in the air sound flat or formal.

It is easier to express these things to You

on the inside,

where they live,

or writing them down, where they can still

physically hold a depth.

I wake up late and still walk to the campo

across the road in the other neighborhood

to run,

with the sun already hot

at 6:30 in the morning,

the sun laying like bright glass on palm trees and tin roofs.

Men passing look as always,

and I am learning over to talk to You and ignore the glances.

I pass a young man, twice,

on his way to and from the mercadito—

tall in a blue shirt, beautiful face,

and openly hungry eyes at me.

And I say to You—

He is beautiful. But I want You—

how could a man ever be what I want

more than You?

—Thank You for

that thought.

I think to myself—

Young man, I pray

that your eyes are drawn to the beauty

of Yahweh.

I know that your eyes have been taught

to drink up

the sexually crazed music videos

and bodies of women

like a thirsty bottle of popping Coca Cola—

you'll never be slated.

Meet him, Jesus.

I walk home and stretch on the porch

and You remind me—

“I did not take

the easy way.

In the hunger of the desert,

a devil came to me—

in the aching of My heart for all

to be set right,

he showed me a way

to speed it up—to sit

on the throne

of Justice

that I already

have and set

to right

every wrong

under the sun.

But,

I trusted My Abba—and I was obedient

until the death—because God alone has My heart's worship

and He is wise and He is good.”

And You laid down Your life even while You lived it

—all the way to the death.

And I know that Paul

too had the aching:

“To live is Christ, but to die is gain.”

He knew it was better for

all those God called him to minister

to if he stayed—

Don't you want to be a part

of this adventure of rescue?

You asked me.

Yesterday, I said no—

even admitting my selfishness in it.

I'd rather peace out, I said.

I'm telling You again,

there are dead things in my heart.

There is something in me

that has laid on its grave,

head down, eyes closed,

that I thought still needed to be alive—

You know if it should or not.

I beg You to bring back the life in me—

I will see Your goodness again

in the land of the living.

Be strong, take heart,

and wait for the Lord.