For Me?

Oh I know I waffle.

Teeter ‘tween

Wretched and holy

Restlessness and deep contentment

A longing to rove and the comfort of stay.

Fickle as the day is long

I totter.

The effort’s not so Herculean

To stop wrestling and worrying and simply receive.

Takes only a tiny parcel of surrender, really.

Though the effort required to put it forth

Always and initially presents as impossible.

But why not?

Why not surrender sooner?

Give up the discomfort of the uglier parts of my humanity?

Hand over all these that keep me from You?

‘Cause the thing is,

Without You,

(Because I haven’t invited You –

You, the quintessential gentleman 

Who doesn’t go where He’s not invited -)

I don’t know – can’t know, really – anything.

What’s best

What’s too much

What’s too little

Too rich too sparse too indulgent not enough.

Moments of peace and glory, yes.

But unsure, yes.

This marks existence.

Not poorly perhaps, not always.

Tiny thanks uttered here and there

I hope are pleasing

And frankly, hope they count.

And maybe, maybe this is where to begin?

In the childlike posture of thanks?

Thanks uttered at first may seem tentative, inconsistent surely.

But thanks offered is an acknowledgment of gifts received.

And what’s been received in thanks

Begins to overshadow that which isn’t enough.

And the receiving of and thanksgiving for all these gifts

Will be followed by a wide-eyed, wondering, whispering,

“For me?”


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