Potatoes baking in the oven.
The smell—oil and earth commingled—
seasons the air, circulated
by the unit’s fan, its white noise drowning
the quiet, though the quiet is still felt.
I am alone here.
I recall the doctrines, that you
are ever present, ever with me.
Why then can I not feel you,
hear you, smell you, detect you
somehow in the room?
The silence seems stronger sometimes.
But truth is truth, even when
perception challenges reality.
I know I ought to be in awe of you,
To walk in holy fear,
For you are far and you are near,
Both present and surpassing all I know.
But as I go,
I often show
Ambivalence or apathy and throw
My heart to fleeting treasures here.
Reform my faith this year
And fill my soul with love for what is true.
I do not want this weakness anymore,
This want of strength, this will so rife with lack.
I tire of always falling further back,
Forgetting truths I knew just days before.
Corruption keeps its hold upon my core,
Each fault of mine another little crack,
Each inability a grave attack
In this, the never ending inner war.
But at the end of my ability,
Your grace, sufficient for my ev’ry need,
Reminds me of the testifying host
Of those who grasp their own futility
And trust instead your ev’ry word and deed,
So trials become their joy, the cross their boast.
You may have heard the analogy of the terrible car accident, an example of something you don’t want to see but you can’t help but watch. Some parts of Scripture seem fitting passages for such a comparison (think of the story of Lot’s daughters in Genesis 19 or of David’s adultery and murder in 2 Samuel 11). Horror movies also match the model with their fantastical depictions of the broken state of reality. But true crime stories, for many people, may serve as more poignant examples of evil in our world.
You have been used to chronicle the rise
And fall of kingdoms, showing them to be
Far frailer than what many then could see.
You lend perspective to our searching eyes,
Reminding us that, under younger skies,
Stories of fears and foes and fantasy
Appeared in fiction and biography.
You keep the record of both truth and lies.
And through mere momentary markings, you
Can capture glimpses of eternity,
Can testify to what is ever true
In ev’ry ebb and flow of history,
Can tell the tale of what one Word can do
When written in the heart of one like me.