Separation

I’m trying to be fed by anybody but You

I’m trying to rely on anyone but You. I’m trying–

to rely on anything for You, Jesus.

I don’t know why it feels like my sin hides me from you,

I am not my sin.

You have made me free of it.

But it still clings to me, and it separates–

it tells me it separates You and me.

But that is a lie.

Do I listen to a lie?

Or do I listen to You, my King

stone heart

confront the stone and drill right through

hard rubble of calluses

collapse before Him.

Chips fly and sparks fry the air

as compacted heart comes apart.

the new heart transplant can be a

finicky process and the old heart rebellious,

stubborn to die.

/

the Excavator digging through the pain and grief-ite and pride-stone, riddled the old callused heart.

So much pride-stone flecks of green in black, shame stone mirrors that looks endless but lead nowhere, and sparks of delusionite illumination that only blind

the replacement is inevitable and deeply desired,

but painful — none deny it.

But to be of the Excavator’s flock a new heart is needed, required for survival.

the old one will die.

/

so stone flints and flies, freezes and fries.

The drilling and extraction continues.