Raising My Hand

Raising My Hand

(“God’s grace is multiplied even more for many people with the gift—of the one person Jesus Christ—that comes through grace.” Romans 5:15b)

I used to be the first to raise my hand
and ask leading questions in search of agreement.
I used to jump through the opening sliver of windows
to explore the meanings I had already defined.
I could take them like mountains on the skyline,
I could refine them like new words unsigned.

I never contemplated long, it all was a bore;
but I filled my head with information and could tell you
what all the thinking was for.
I could take the voices, I could sing the songs
much longer than the epochs would allow.
I could see the heart of the matter inside the
walls that held every cautious belief safely inside.

I kept it up for far too long. I was certain I would
coax the applause of the redeemed by my well-reasoned
monologues and time. But the sand moved
quickly
beneath my feet and the heat of a thousand suns
pushed me down until the launch party I had
dreamed about burned on the sinking ground.

I heard silence and it was frightening.
I had no more questions to ask.
I had no defense. Everything felt recent,
every turn of the road another foolish move
meant to find the meaning of my vanishing words.
There was one breath I could not escape,
one song, one tune, one lyric of grace.
So I walked softly again and tried to apprehend
the way the sand felt between my toes and the
sun toasted my shoulders.