I write down words.
I was a drunk.
It hurts still, the heavy story bulges in my heart.
Knowing it’s true, that’s one thing.
Going back
to the vomit and need and empty
ache
the desperation
sits heavy with me again
all day.
But in writing comes a slow redemption.
My words
are a gift:
the tale that cautions.
If you are there, broken
believing that you can drink away your fear
come home.
Home to the place in the crook of the rocks,
where the eagle wings of God cover and protect.
Come home, beloved because. No one
is too far gone into addiction, or into any other ugly dark thing
that Jesus’ sweet, mystical
life altering LIGHT fails to shine.
He weeps for us, whispering
Beloved come home.
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“God, it seems you’ve been our home forever;
long before the mountains were born,
Long before you brought earth itself to birth,
from “once upon a time” to “kingdom come” – Psalm 90 The Message
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amen.
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Home, that place where we can still feel without being consumed. A space where our fears don’t swallow us whole. Where reclamation peels back the lies that trip and grin. Grace pouring and everflowing heals our brokenness from within.
Great words, Melody. Yes yes YES!!!! Come home!!!!
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thanks Charles.
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