If It Be Not Now,

From the dawn of this season
I’ve sensed my potential end-of-stay;
Braced for the abrupt blow
At his hand, but today
I saw it’s bigger than one man
There are broader forces in play
Who have, from my conception,
Wanted me to go away.
They hate me now, to my surprise,
Because of the way I pray.

I have grown at the knees
Of spiritual forces at war.
I have wept in the sand
On their blood-bathed shores.
I have stared down hatred
Until I could bear no more,
Until war became what I am:
No afters, no befores,
No peace in the trenches:
Merely the brief calm in the storm.

My spiritual language
Has been born of pain:
The explosion and fracture,
Crying out in louder refrains
At the bones being reset
Field dressings stained
Shivers and tremors and gasps
Until movement is regained
Unable to yet see through the casualties
At all the battles have attained

But He has carried me.
There’s something in this place
Of a final stand, but I feel
His presence and grace
Upholding the unfolding
And fast approaching days
If I am to be a martyr
May I close my eyes in praise,
And open them in heaven
On the tender face

Of my betrothed savior,
Who has held me gently
Laying me down in baptism,
Purifying me intensely,
Leading me and preparing me
For the marriage ceremony
Wherein I will discover a groom
Who can delight in me,

Who is capable of loving me
Immensely and for eternity.