February 07, 2009

Vanish

There is something here
Something about freedom
To see where I was
And what I am walking into
And to see all the lies
Dissipate.
To know that it is not of me
To know that I could not have done this
And to know that everything
That is drawn out of me
Is burned and refined
Not for me,
But for Him.

“Ima” (The Prodigal’s Mother)

 Birth is the only jubilant end To one life being shared with another. Not so joyous is the letting go that comes after. No one told me what...