Altar-Gleam

Let go.

Let go.

Trust Me.

It's what He's been saying, and what I've been trying to swallow, and great Scot, at least something's come out of it all:

"Altar-Gleam"

Oh, Lord, it rends my soul to give

this wish--desire--full away,

Not clinging to a piece of hope;

A piece that says, 'Perhaps someday...'

For now the thing--so frightening clear--

Is to release it dark and full

and keep no sliver-thought of me,

though giving leaves a gaping hole.

Desire--oh, how sharp the spears

of joy that haunt this favorite dream.

But am I Your's enough to push

this treasure toward Your altar's gleam?

The thund'ring toss of straining mind.

The clashing knowledge: this is right.

The heart's own cry: 'Oh, please, not yet!'

The beckon of Your fire bright.

No looking back, no holding on,

I watch my treasure dance in flame.

And then I feel inside my soul

the power of Your tender Name.

I've given what was dearest mine

but just before the wound bleeds free

You staunch the flow and catch my heart

and with Your Lover's arms hold me.

What looks as ash is only just

the dust from which Your plans arise

And though I feel the burning here

I see the mercy in Your eyes.