How did you know I needed you to allow me to cry?
Who told you to come and visit me
I didn’t think anyone had noticed that I was struggling.
I’m so used to being the strong one, the competent one,
The reliable provider and useful contributor.
Now I can do nothing.
Not because of danger
Not because of doubt
I’m not sure who I am any more
I know God is with me
And yet somehow
That’s small comfort
In this particular moment
God can’t, or won’t
Fix what’s ailing me
I’m broken in places
Others can’t see.
Perhaps there is no fixing
Or perhaps the breaking
Is in reality the fixing
Is God a post-modern Deconstructivist?
We build a babel-tower
To reach the pinnacles of perfection
Superiority, excellence, autonomy
Once I reach God, I won’t need God.
We’d gotten so good at convincing ourselves
That our explanations made sense
That our ordering of life was living
God enabled us to be this, so God must want this.
How frightening the confused talk
Nothing I hear or say makes any sense any more
Mixed messages are the only messages
The only good news is no news
Where will we go with our brokenness
It will drive us apart in shame
What if we could stay together long enough
To realize unbroken is incomplete