my own story
have your own story…
but your truths
along a path
which in turn
down the path
of needed forgiveness …
as i sit at my desk
begins to beat fast
knowing these words
i am writing-
this release of my soul-
is to you
but it is
in your story
you were wounded
or you would not
have in turn
taken it out
we have a common bond
we both share pain
of telling my story
from this day forward…
i am willing
to grant you renewal
to give you wings
and release you
into the palm of
by forgiving you
i then expose
the core of my soul
assists in the
that i have carried
for 50 years
self doubt and
i accept your words
as being said
the best way you knew how
i forgive you for being
what i needed
for the last time
i carry the burden
for this new day
i unshackle myself from you
put a warm salve
upon my seeping wounds
with a heart
that is ready to forgive
wrapped in blue.
i tear open the package
press my face into it
and inhale memories.
When i was small, everywhere i looked Jesus was dressed
in a long flowing white robe.
I would kneel in the dimly lit empty classroom beneath
the church and pray
beneath a painting of Jesus.
In our church sanctuary there was an enormous white statue
of Jesus. His hands held out,
dressed in long flowing robe,
welcoming us each Sunday to service.
My image of Jesus was always one of softness, grace and love.
I always knew, He was my home.
I would picture myself wrapped up in his robe of faith.
while i was kneeling i would gaze up and finish my prayers
with the song , “Jesus loves me.”
I did not need to physically see Jesus to know he existed
or that i was loved, because His love flowed easily
to me through my faith,
just like the beautiful robes he was painted wearing.
Years later, when I was 11 we moved and joined a new church.
My first day of confirmation Pastor Bill greeted his young open souls
dressed in a white flowing shirt, blue jeans, cowboy boots and a huge grin.
A tall man with a Bible in hand,
his big brown eyes welcomed us and put us all at ease.
would come to be my mentor, guide, friend and father figure.
Throughout my life i would call him, write him, meet with him
and some of the times he would wear this same flowing white shirt.
Pastor Bill always folded me up in His faith.
All he need do is wrap me up in the enormous hug of his and
once more, i knew i was home.
He was a listener, a guide, my strength.
He never judged me or scolded me, but sat in silent stillness
as i cried, laughed, shared and grew.
When I lost him a few years ago
i thought to myself,
how can i live with out my worldly Jesus?
I miss him.
Having one of his flowing white shirts
in my presence
oddly, i find myself talking to the shirt
as if it were Pastor Bill.
I put the shirt on
and thought to myself,
“it seems so small, because he was
such a large part of my life, heart and soul…”
Pieces of life lie scattered everywhere in our daily grind
the one constant
is Jesus-His acceptance, guidance, tenderness and love.
Falling into my faith daily,
wrapping myself up in Pastor Bills shirt,
remembering the robes of Jesus,
the songs of a child
all put me in the same place-
the palm of God’s hand…
for they all cradle me
with the the warmth,
knowledge and assurance
with Jesus in my heart
i am home…
Welcome to NAUTILUS-A MESSAGE OF FAITH
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