You came to me once – 
more terrifying and mighty 
than the darkest corner of my muffled imprisonment – 
that self-imposed prison 
momentarily opened and offered… 
…I cannot say what – 
for I ran so swiftly away… 
…yet not swiftly enough 
to avoid the seed of Truth 
that then laid waiting 
on top of the soil of my heart 
until years later 
when You sent the farmers 
to push it down into the depths of my soul… 
…oh, the pain and suffering 
when that seed broke open, 
the walls of solid rock and ice I had spent years perfecting… 
…or so I thought – 
they crumbled all around me 
releasing a madness of disease 
and generational guilt, hate, disgust – 
thanks be to God for the field hands 
who helped me clear away the debris of it all – 
they asked for nothing, 
expected nothing, 
and gave all that they had – 
themselves. 
Since then, 
I have watched the seed grow, 
planted more around me, 
and walked through the harvest 
as a field hand myself… 
…patiently farming and reaping and sowing 
and farming again… 
…trusting and knowing the day is near 
and the hour could even be now 
when Your Face will shine upon me once more. 
This time, I promise, I will not run again
from the splendor of Your Son.