HE SPOKE

He had spoken to me.

Not to send me out. Not to the field.

But He had coyly asked me to come away with Him. “Forget others. Forget your duty. Come and see my Face.”

His words dripping with honey.

His lips salivating with God’s romance.

And so I left my post.

AWOL religion would say, "Deserter!" Yes I would be called.

But count me not a fool; true desertion is swaying from LOVING HIM.

...And so I drew near. Nearer into His beckoning Voice.

Yes! Into the worlds within His Voice.

And there, a treasure chest to see. Within it my heart to rest.

Rest in the chest of God.

Rest my heart in the bosom of the Father. On my heart His wounded Hand to lay, a fitting resting place for the hands that weaved creation - A fitting resting place for the hands that were fastened on a splintered plank of wood.

So my heart music to make; Melodies anew, unlike those from the hammer and nails.”

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