“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you;
I am no longer worthy to be called your son;
treat me like one of your hired hands.”
Empty hollow husks and crusts.
Treasure spent and spoiled.
Sorrow, mess and brokenness.
That's what I have to offer you.
Hunger drove me then and draws me home.
Oh, I confess I have not come for you,
to heal your broken heart or give you thanks,
but only beg another scrap.
And yet you see me not as beggar
or as thief but your Beloved,
lost and found, and dear,
a cause for your rejoicing.
How do I bear this grace's weight,
this love around my neck, this gift?
I don't. I let it lift me up beyond myself,
amazed, where all there is is you.
—March 25, 2019