A broken tulip

Wash me.

Dust blows on me, over me, around me.

I have inhaled it, absorbed it, choked on it.

I’m caked in it.

Come wash me clean.

 

You are Jesus, the Jewish Messiah.

I am the dirty outsider,

the prostitute.

You speak.

Daughter, I’ll make you into a well of living water.

 

I turn and look back

at streambeds turned to

dusty dead-ends,

my soul’s searches  turned

to deviations.

How did I wander so far?

How did I lose so much?

Oh, my Jesus,

my bright Truth,

my strong Tower,

My friends have turned to enemies –

the lies I loved have held me hostage.

 

My Fixed Star, all spins beneath my feet.

My Rock, I have built on sand.

My Living Water, I am grown accustomed to mud.

My Beloved, save me

from shifting eyes,

from false loves,

from selling a life for a raisin cake.

Save me.

My Truth, clear my shadows and slay the whispers.

My King, lies have dictated my life.

My Blessing, give me eyes for You alone.

My Bright Light, my sin has clouded your face.

 

My One, My Only,

my true God,

my Suffering Messiah,

my Prince of Peace,

my Perfector and Anointed One,

My Lover and my Pursuer,

 

Forgive me.

Save me.

I am Yours.

Save me.

 

Part two of a three-part prayer.