No.104: Wreckless


Forgive me, Father,
for I know not what I do.
But what if I do?
What if I'm so fractured inside I willfully choose
what killed you?
What if you already knew I would?
What if that's why you did
what you came to do--
so that I wouldn't have to?
That would be a little too good to be true.
I know there’s a catch.

I know whatchu tryna do.
You want to change me.
But I've failed time and time and time and time and time
(multiplied by 9,999,999 more times) again.

What is gonna change me now
that didn't back then?
Back then, when I said come in,
be my Lord and Savior,
take the bed and
I'll take the couch,
I'll make room,
I'll drop my pen and instead,
I'll be the note in your tune,
the night beneath your moon.
Back then, I thought you'd fix me soon.
That wasn't the case.

It's been a decade since we been on this date
and I'm still wondering when You gone make Your move,
shoot your shot--make it quick, I don't like suspense,
I'm not asking for buzzer beaters,
‘cause it feels like my clock is almost out of ticks
and I'm still bleeding from invisible wounds,
cutting my spirit open with secret tools.
You know, they have groups
for depression, and anxiety, and addiction,
but I'm addicted too--
just ‘cause my demons live at night in a bathroom don't mean
I don't need help too--
God, do you hear me?

I say forgive me but I know deep down really,
I just want You to pass over my sin,
ignore my greed,
look the other way,
turn the other cheek,
see the blood of the lamb on the door to my soul and say,
“it’s okay,
you’re free to do as you please,
you are not guilty,
not before, not today,
I will not let death come for you,
I will not condemn you,
go ahead and play.”
I just want you to grant this cowardly wish,
and the problem is already did,
and you called this freedom grace.
You called it holy.

And You left me to wonder,
what kind of God is this,
that He would pay my bills,
take my seat on death row,
and bless me still?

I know whatchu tryna do.
'Cause you won’t let me be.
You always tryna change me.
You are so self-righteous.

So righteous in Your own self.
To lay down the cosmos in Your chest
in exchange for my rest,
before I was even born,
despite knowing the wreck I would become.

Who are you? Why do you treat me like a son?
Why do you stay? Why don't you run?
Is my million page resume of shame and guilt not enough?
I want to put all my chips in and call your bluff,
but I'm scared I'll lose the few idols I have left to love,
I'm scared your love is serious,
I'm scared you weren't drunk when you made me,
that you had a reason, that when the Book of Life asked you,
"what about this one?"
You said “Yes,” and meant it,
that you are unfamiliar with “maybe,”
that you are intentional, endlessly strategic,
that you accounted for my weakness.
I'm scared I'm really a prince in peasant clothes,
a priest playing heathen,
a genius controlled by his feelings,
I'm scared you won't let me lose.

Because I deserve to.
Because they know not what
but I do.
I know what I do.
I know before I do it.
I know while I do it.
I still do it.
I'm out of excuses,
half-hearted apologies
and compulsive forgive me’s.
I'm just crooked.

But they say that's just the way you like Your vessels,
Your artwork--
damaged and desperate.
and torn.
Because the most wretched cases
make for the greatest testimonies.

I know whatchu tryna do.
You want to change me.
Bring me back home I guess.
Convince me that I am a greater priority to You
than even You, Yourself.
And you would leave your throne empty
and become the sacrifice
just to prove it.

Reckless. That is what You are:
A reckless God.
To do all that
just to show me
that my greatest wreck will always be less than Your incessant love--
you are without fault, without flaw.
And it is blinding.
You are a wreckless God
bent on setting a reckless child
free, wreckless, and wild.

A mass-murderer
expects to die upon conviction.
He does not expect a permanent pardon
for all past, present, and future transgressions.
He certainly does not expect permission to live His life from scratch,
with no criminal record.
But let's say that this miracle did happen?
And he knew he did nothing to earn them?
Would he live his life different?
Would he change?

Father, I know whatchu tryna do.
And maybe you've already done it.
So maybe I’ll just get on my knees and let you.
‘Cause maybe I wreckless.


Cover Photo by Brxxto on Unsplash