Stuck on the Floor

Stuck on the Floor

(“I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also who is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite.” Isaiah 57:15b) \

i would do anything to ease your pain,
to sit with you while you struggle to breathe.
I would not utter a word, because each syllable would be
an
intrusion into your grief.
I know there is nothing than can ease your pain. 

How do we lose someone precious,
where do we take our sorrow?
Where can we find the end of our heartache
when the end of a beloved comes too soon? 

What if we could have prevented it, what if
we asked him to stay longer so the intersection
where he met the t-boning truck was free and clear?
What if, what if, what if, we had prayed harder? 

We never pray hard enough, do we?
We beg heaven after the events, but sound like
silk on the days before. Is God that angry;
did God take away the apple of my eye
because I found faith to flee too often? 

Did he look both ways, did he have a lapse in judgment?
Did I rush him out the door, did I call him home too soon?
I cannot breathe, the air is lead. I cannot bear
to see another face when mine is crushed and
wrinkled. Everything that is wrong in the world has
landed on me and I fear I may never breathe the same again. 

Don’t tell me God is with me now. Don’t tell me God
works
in mysterious ways. I am subtracted, I am absent,
I am divided from myself, I am stuck on the floor and
wanting to be alone for days and days.
It is all too new for your Scriptures and your prayers. 

  It is all too new.