I walk in the air, between the rain, through myself and back again. Where? I don't know.

Screaming to the Wind

You make me sick
And I sicken myself
I want to scream at you
And slap myself
And cry
And make you listen
You are no judge!
You are not righteous
And your holiness is not your own
It is a granted cloak of blood you did not shed
You did not deserve
You don't even value!
You cannot measure its worth
It covers your every sin
Your every transgression
But don't you dare act like that means you don't sin
Don't do, think, say, feel, mean
Horrible things
If you were held accountable for your sins
As they are thus far held accountable for theirs
You would writhe in shame
And don't forget that.
We are not judges
Your moral code had best apply to you and only you
Only Scripture is given to judge
And you are a wielder of Scripture first on your own soul
Before you may sear another with it
Can you stand under its penetrating edge?
Can you stare yourself in the face and not weep?
No.
And neither can I.
No one who has eyes to see themselves clearly is harsh with others
I pray for mercy
Not to be granted to me
But for me to grant to others
I hate that tendency in me to judge
I cringe at the things I've said over the years
How absolutely I've believed in the validity of my scathing
Harsh
Hateful
Judgments
And I cry hot tears of remorse.
Oh, God, soften my heart
And teach me to love
And teach me to have empathy
And teach me to pray more than I preach
And teach me to listen more than I speak
And teach me to care for souls more than I care for humans
And oh, God, give me the grace to lead the life I crave
To be the woman you've called me to be
And teach me to be thankful for the truth
And oh, God, hold me close.
I'm so afraid.

Copyright ©2003, Emma N. Davis

posted by Emma @ Wednesday, September 03, 2003