Hey, man what’s up?
I know it’s been a while and I was thinking about You earlier, I thought to myself;
I remember when Your name meant joy, Like my grandma singing your praises over her cast-iron skillet, like home.
Reminds me of not being able to wait till Sunday, singing the loudest in the choir, like my seven year old self saying, “I can’t wait to get saved.”
Reminds me of a time when Faith meant Church, Church meant Family, and Family meant Love.
I can remember when Your name meant fear;
I remember Your name being used like a weapon by people a lot less perfect than I, attacking my spirit, spearing my soul, and finally lancing right through my faith.
Laying in the pool of blood were hallow questions, that You never answered.
Not that I ever really wanted the answers, but I fell to my knees and begged till they were bloody and scabbed, You gave me none.
Which reminds me why I left; I went searching for solutions, for the problems that You gave me.
Your text decided I was dirty, had me fixed that I must not be pure.
Not that I was ever actually un-clean, but You sent angels down to scour my skin until I was raw, bent, and twisted so much that You must have scrubbed every ounce of Your word by accident.
I said all this to say, I’m mad at You, but when I say mad I mean lost, when I say lost I mean broken, and when I say I’m broken I’m really just hoping You can put me back together again.