On this appointed day where we fall down before Christ, carry our sadness like a cloak, reflect on sacrifice, think quiet thoughts, attend quiet service, offer our thanks, plead our unworthiness, never look up, always look down, pick up a nail, wallow in pain, ours or His – it matters not, being not good enough is what hits the spot, saying the right words important to do, drawing Him to us this very Good day, this day of Good Friday when penance is rife, church where we seek comfort and others to pray, hoping the words draw Him to us as we say… whatever it is we are taught to say.
And on this day, I have a friend. And for this friend a gift. A pearl – at least to me:
To my Friend …
I have a father who waits for me
Whether it be here, or there or that spot
A father of Love.
Demanding He's not
No prayer or help needed
Nor praising or plead
No faith team or temple
Draws him to Me?
Where did He go?
Why do we call?
To make Him … come back?
Why do we plead?
Must we think Him … so small.
Why look down and fall on our knees?
Who is it really we wish to please?
Draw Him to us – draw Him to me?
Isn’t that thought the wrong way round
“him come to Me”?
Isn’t that just the wrong sound
Where did He go that we have to call?
Why do we think He left at all?
I have a father I am of I Am.
He is within where ever I am.
I am of I Am, He loving of me.
“Please don’t try” I hear Him cry.