Who is this Jesus?
Who is he?
This one I speak to
upon waking each morning,
full of fear....
upon waking each morning,
full of fear....
This one I've never laid eyes on,
yet trust
with my dread and my life?
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.
day after day
hearing the whispers.
The way I approach is all wrong,
offerings foolish and wasteful.
A woman,
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?
Comments
Thanks.