Her Broken wing

On my road to Damascus I had worshiped another god.

Persecuting the Lord Which separated me from a Love.

The long hot dusty roads I traveled only to seek another fix–I lied, I stole and I cheated altogether in self-satisfaction.

But now in a Holy moment, I was blinded by a pain too great that my loneliness could not be reckoned with.

At this instant, my sight was shaded by something  greater than I.

The sounds around me hastens my senses, “Who is there?” I cry.

And then, the tender touch of a hand guides me as He whispers.

I go.

For I was blind and now I see.

A dusty road I walk, led by His eyes.

The eyes of His surrender. The tender touch of His hand.

God is not dead nor does He sleep.

Beautifully Awkward

This entry was posted on November 18, 2010 at 2:51 pm and is filed under Uncategorized with tags Forgiveness, journey, Truth. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.