Who is this Jesus?

Who is he?

This one I speak to
upon waking each morning,
full of fear....
This one I've never laid eyes on,
yet trust
with my dread and my life?

Who are you, Jesus?
Why do I trust you?
Why do I wish it was me,
washing your feet with my tears
Touching your skin
fear of your disciples, their taunts
washed away by hope of your acceptance?

How do I know you will not agree with them
and turn me away?
I don't.
I never have.
And yet I come,
day after day
hearing the whispers.
The way I approach is all wrong,
offerings foolish and wasteful.
A woman,
I belong in the kitchen, quietly working, useful.

But I need you.
Oh, how I wish I could touch you, hear your voice
drowning out the voice of your men. 
Then I would ask you
Who are you?
Why do I trust you?


Karin said…
Very deep thoughts and I won't provide answers, as I've asked these questions myself. God bless and hugs!

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