Monday, November 25, 2013

throwing down {a poem of sorts}

{via perspective artista}
i've decided to throw down the sword, the one that they put in my hand from the minute i took a breath to see how well i could lift it. they called it Truth, but it didn't match the Words He whispered on the parchment page. they told me that was okay, it wasn't possible for me to understand. not really. they’d tell me, and then it would make sense. 

they promised.

i've decided to cut the cord, to let it go, to turn the hands of the clock back until they hit the point when i shut my eyes so tight that they knew they’d never open again. or at least, not until I turned my head in the direction of the Sun and let the wax melt away.

i don’t know when I looked down into the chalice and saw the wine turned to water because someone decided the miracle was too strong and that it burned going down. it's safer this way, they said, you must be set apart, but never let them smell it on your breath.

there's a lovely gag already fashioned for your feminine mouth, they said. it tastes like sweet things and silence and contentment. you should try it on. we made it for you special. 

but see, i’d rather be covered in dirt and know what the edge of His robe feels like than hold onto the neat and tidy pew-back and never know the way that Israeli dirt and forgiveness smells when it fills up my nose. i’d rather have them make me walk the line because the aroma of Him is so strong on me that they can tell that i’ve been even without me opening my mouth. 

that thing about gripping His robe :: it's been inside me for a long while. it's been ever since i figured out that my hand fit better inside of Rahab's than it did Mary's. i used to want to sit on the alabaster throne with my fingers clutching a scepter and clad all in white, a princess over a kingdom of my own choosing. 

but it didn't take long before i realized that the only alabaster that fit within my grasping fingers was shaped like a perfume jar. 

my tears and i found a safer lodging at His feet. 

and then He breathed. and my bindings caught the wind and flew as far as the east from the west.

i haven't seen them since. 


  1. rachel. sigh. i know this too. this walking in the dust. i just heard a sermon at church yesterday, talking about the alabaster box and the sinner-woman who knelt and poured out perfume with such gratitude at the feet of Jesus, and i couldn't help but think that i identified so much more with her than with other biblical women. i am so moved by this post, dear-heart - as i hear my own heart echoed here in this place.

  2. Rachel, I definitely feel less alone when I read your thoughts...

  3. Dear Rachel
    Oh, I know THEY tell us many stories fully expecting us to swallow it hook, line and sinker! They told me when I became ill with ME/Fm, that the demon of death and insanity was on my trail. Well, I also reckoned that only Jesus can and has conquered them, so I just went to Him and am still abiding in perfect peace.
    Blessings XX

  4. "there's a lovely gag already fashioned for your feminine mouth, they said. it tastes like sweet things and silence and contentment. you should try it on. we made it for you special."

    Gorgeous line. I love your literary prose. So glad I came across you on Preston's blog.


I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know there's nothing but light when I see you. :: Shinji Moon