October 11, 2012
God of the world of unknown mysteries…
God of the realm tucked deeply behind that horizon...
God of the land yet untread on this journey...
God of our home still seen,
We seem not to know you well.
We call you by familiar names,
names of dominance and triumph and victory,
but we know little of Your fighting Self.
We call you Creator, Potter, Molder,
but we can name little of Your fashioning way within the corridors of our beings.
We have called on Your name,
and the words have grown stale on our tongues.
Our lips used to quiver to approach You,
but we find You rather familiar,
And buried beneath our self-protective layers of isolation
we may name yet another.
We remember desire. We recall the days marked by its presence.
We find it is not pressing, it is not growing. No, it is small and weak, withered from long misuse and neglect.
It’s small and unimpressive. It’s languid and just a bit ugly…
But it’s Yours if you’ll have it.
Please have it. Please.
till our lips quake again…
Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.