A Love Letter

Heaven is on my GPS (but I keep re-routing) 

dear strange Lord though I
come empty handed You
pour living water into the
cup of my palms,
fill the spaces between my
fingers, build a home
inside my heart, make a
bed within my bones,
become the dizzy light
behind my eyes,

and into my lungs
breathe into me
that sweetest of air
You poured into Adam
that first time,

and I swear that
Heaven is on my GPS,
but I keep re-routing
although I know You have
made a path for me,
but my way is the best way

until it’s not
(and it’s always not)

be patient with me
because I am gaspingly homesick
for that time outside of

so, for now, I become
hungry for Your affection,
greedy for Your eyes
upon me; and every day I
grasp at every impossible
moment You do not care that the
universe is vast
and I am small,

and I,
not yet 22,
have strained my neck on the
height of the Eiffel Tower,
have felt the violent crush and spray of Niagara,
have taken the stairs two at a time up the
Monument overlooking all of that ancient London fire,
have turned my curious eyes towards
that yawning horizon that
spans and dips and stretches
as if to imitate eternity,

and yet, remains
the greatest marvel of how
You hold the silk and sew of
all creation under Your tongue
and yet still and always
find and chase and pull and call and
love me.


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