Meeting Her

Normally, I take Fridays to reflect on things that inspire my writing or other creative endeavors, but this beautiful poem by my dad inspires my living. There are thirty years behind these words, thirty years of failures, of joys, of triumphs, of grief, of grace, of growing in love. I am often afraid I will fail, and I have already done so in pretty much every way possible, but I am so deeply encouraged to live in love because of the two wonderful people who are my parents. 

Meeting Her
By Chip Burkitt
Back when I was mad at God,
I rattled around the gloomy, tattered world
Dry as an old crust and
Dangerous as a dropped pin.
I ate alone
I slept alone
I stole brief pleasures alone.
Strange, unnamed animals came to me,
And I named them all alone.

I kept waiting for Him to slip up again
Or maybe I was expecting to catch it
For accusing Him
  (Though, really, it was all His fault.
  Who does He think He is?
  I was perfectly willing to forgive Him
  If He would just admit it
  And say He was sorry.)

I slept and had unnatural dreams.
I dreamed of a dark chasm into which one could fall and never 
reach bottom forever and ever, world without end, amen.

She came when I awoke, a little stiff on one side.
In her hair were sunlight and laughter.
Her merriment unfurrowed my brow.
I desired her pixie ears, her strong chin, her lithe limbs, her
   supple skin
I desired her infectious joy.
I desired her.

We fell into step.
The day got brighter.
The road got straighter.
The air got lighter,
   And I gingerly began to trust Him again.

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