A Prayer of Distress

Collector of Teardrops, how many times have you watched me cry

As I whispered Your name?

How many times will You rake my heart 

Across glowing coals

To rid me of filth?

Hear my voice, little as I am.

Father, I’m yours 

To do with as You will,

But, please, mold me gently. 

Gently.

Your fingers trace the Milky Way.

Your wrists hold deep scars.

Can these same hands 

Be holding me now?

Father, when you see me, do you cringe?

Does disgust fill Your heart,

Which gushed forth Hebrew blood

And human water?

If it does, end me now, 

For what am I worth

If in the mind of my Abba

I am as an abuser of children

Or a silver tongued serpent? 

I am just as bad as the worst of us,

And do not deserve so much

As a swift death.

I deserve to have my skin ripped from my bones,

And my face runny with blood,

Just as yours was.

I deserve to be shamed,

To scream my throat hoarse,

As I am tortured 

With iron nails.

I deserve to feel acacia wood

Sink splinters into my flesh,

As I writhe beneath a scorching sun,

And to face horrors worse than any

Inquisitioner’s nightmares.

To be truly alone, without Elohim, and without hope…

To die in boiling oil would be better

Than being abandoned 

By my Lord.

God, help me. I feel so overwhelmed.

I can’t sleep.

I don’t want to so much as look at food 

Or drink.

I’m trapped in my mind, but, there is this hope:

Help is coming.

For all my careless words, 

You are One Who answers prayers.

Stay with me… please… or I’ll collapse…

I’m not like my mother.

I am weak and anxious in spirit.

How will I do Your work 

If I can’t even do my own?

Stay with me. Please stay.

If all goes well, you’ll take me home someday.

Kiss away my tears, 

Hold me in Your arms, and say,

In Hebrew words, 

“Well done, my love,

But know, this home was yours

Before you penned a single word.

I wish you knew how much I loved you,

And how much I love you still.

Nothing you did could ever change that

Now rest, you’re home at last.”