Poetry

I am not a poet, but my Father is. I am not a song writer or a painter or a play-write. But my Father is. Last night I was surprised by poetry that came from my fingers, so surprised that I posted the line on facebook. It resonated with some friends and they said so.

There is so much in the depths of exploration, in insisting on clinging to the bosom of the King. I don't expect that my Father is making me a poet, but I am sure that His poetry is saturating me as I dream upon His breast. I hope for the day when it is the perfume of His Presence coming from me that brings someone home. And that day I will have been so near to the aroma for so very long that I will not smell it on me, and I will wonder what has drawn them.

One thing have I desired. One thing have I been granted. One thing have I rejoiced in and given thanks for.