two spies short of trusting and
a slingshot shy from killing giants.
tailgated by Baalish priests and
stuck in my own moat of unbelief.
without an Eli to calm the dark and
whisper, "Go back and listen again."
skin away from Davidic lures and
walking knee deep in floodplains.
a congregation of smug cynics
shrugging off talk about God’s intervention.
one mountain range away from
seeing angels pry heaven open to sing.
the bustle and buzz of Bethlehem
who ran out of room to believe.
the foolish one who didn’t see
a droopy star as any real, big thing.
the 11th leper who overslept and
the rich man who never went.
at the well with rocks at the ready
as the woman weeps over grace given freely.
hands full of dirt with no divine spit,
tugging on your robe like an idiot.
standing underneath the cliff and
it's raining demonic pigs.
up too high in the sycamore and
just one boat away from overhearing.
But I am now
cut to the quick, in awe that the God who made man
breaks into the broken and bleeds out love.
Make me completely yours.