Real Birth

Who are you my maker who makes me and unmakes me?  You formed me in the womb of my mother ; I came through blood and water. Deliberately you made my heart and now you tare at my flesh, at my soul with joys and burdens and sorrows, lessons. You are yet making me. You are yet forming me as I walk and live and birth my own babies. Is death true birth? Are we yet impotent, underdeveloped babes until the day we die? Is the last breath actually the one just before real birth, the first breath, the breath of true life? The last breath of amniotic fluid filled with urine and dead skin before we die, true birth, and our lungs are wrung clean and opened to breath your air, your breath of life? It must be so. It must be so, for in this world I encounter things that I feel I am truly not meant for. I was not built to endure, to understand others dying, sickness or rape. These things of darkness feel so very foreign like an unborn babe laboring against the inhale and exhale of filthy fluid. My lungs were made for air not refuse. You are not making me new, you’re making me still. You promise to continue until the return of your Son Jesus. Oh how my laboring lungs heave up and down under a heavy load. The air here feels like tar some days, ever aware of my foreign surroundings and I feel I cannot endure it. Lord wring my lungs and finish your work. Let me be born unto your side, unto your endless days where there is no night and where the sea will be no more. I long, I yearn, my lungs heave for heaven. 

But let me wait in joy Lord Jesus. Let me wait in Joy! Give me some tonic for this enduring pain in my heart from loss. Wipe my eyes with some salve so that I can see how you see, so I can see your beloved, your people, the ones you died for. Bind my back with a brace to stand and walk and work for you, and shoes for my feet that are ever finding glass and metal. Lord let them stand on ground where few have walked, in a land of indomitable joy in the face of hideous sorrow and grief. Lord let my lips sing praises over sadness, and if tears yet flow, let them flow in wave upon wave of praise. With a lump in my throat let me cry, “Holy, holy holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come, worthy are you Lord Jesus, worthy worthy worthy is the High King of heaven and earth, who endured all things, who suffered in all of our sufferings, who carried the heaviest load, who shed the most blood from His perfect innocent flesh. Hallelujahs to the King, hallelujah to the one, the I AM, the maker of all things, maker of my heart and perfector  of my soul. He is King, He is Jesus, He is Jesus, He is Jesus.”