Prayer Room Poem

I stand before You
Shuffling my feet,
Rubbing my gritty eyes.
Miserable in my shame and guilt.
I clutch the list of my sins
Behind my back
so You won't see.
But the look in Your eye
says You have seen it
You beckon me to bring it to You,
unbending my stubborn fingers
with a gentleness I cannot resist.
I hang my head and wait,
for the humiliating announcement
that I have done it.
Instead, I hear the glorious sounds of
tearing paper.
I open my eyes and watch
tiny scraps of paper drift past my feet.
You blow, and they scatter wildly.
For one mad moment, I run and try to capture them,
Convinced we somehow need a record of my wrongs.
Your voice stops me.
You blow harder, and I stand in the whirlwind,
Captured by the delight on Your face
As You blow my sins away.

October 22, 2004