Have you ever
seen a thread unravel from a garment?
Pulled a load from the washer
only to find a string of frayed fabric?
Caught up and tangled,
you try to find the source
but you complicate it further by digging and pulling
And when it’s in your hands
you can see that damage has been done
that what was at first designed to be
a useful and beautiful thing
has begun a process of unravelling?
The human is like a cotton garment
with lace edging on the seams,
Its maker intended for it to be worn
and for it to create warmth
and for it to contribute and be loved and held
With wear it becomes dirty
and it needs a wash
and often times the caretaker doesn’t follow the directions,
maybe they didn’t know how to read, or they just followed what they had seen
and in it goes with wool and polyester and fabrics of all kinds
it gets thrown in with circumstances and textures that it was never meant to know
and instead of a delicate hand wash it gets beaten by the movement of
the machine and strained by the heat
and when it gets pulled from the wash,
there the fabric is frayed
and the thread is wrapped around everything
tangled up and worn out
Do you yell at the garment? Complain that it didn’t
do its job right? Wonder why it failed to be washed clean,
go to the maker and demand back your money?
A soul is more fragile than a garment labeled hand wash only,
the mind more composite than sewn together threads
and we gossip about the neighbor with the addiction,
throw stones at the mother whose child floats into the foster care system
Our brains were wired for attention,
but theirs were met with neglect,
heightened traumas and coping mechanisms turned into
generations of dysfunction
and there lie our pleas to break the cycle and do something
muddled and drenched in the reality of helplessness
I do not claim any ounce of confidence,
the only thing I can do is recognize my weakness
I welcome the constancy of my brokenness
It is only there that I will have rest
I wrestle with my doubt of your goodness
and my anger over your sovereignty,
This is not a place of equal right or opportunity,
but my ambivalence over your existence and truth
is extinguished by the thought of a life with out you
Yes, this place is stacked full of misery,
all the more reason we need your saving
I refuse to allow my cynicism and self-righteousness
to overpower the only source of light in all of this
with out you, whom do we have?
with out you, where should we go?
I serve a God who came for the weak,
he bled and died, so that the blind could see
He is not a removed or cold high priest,
he is a man
who suffered for,
and suffers with,
me
Our quickness to trust in humanity,
should be deserted when we see
the homeless child in their vulnerability
an unravelled thread, a damaged piece
I serve a God who says “come to me,”
he rose to life for the weary
My conviction should not rest
in my angry defense of my inability to save
it should be an everlasting devotion
to the maker and designer of mankind and the ocean
Dismantle my pride and teach me to lay down my life
change the way that I live and the way that I die,
death to my scrutiny and life to my trusting
death to our complacency and life to our caring
My destitution runs deep,
your grace covers me,
I am no longer a garment frayed and torn,
I am a new creation made to be used
an instrument for warmth, a speaker of truth,
I exist to glorify you
Accepting This 