Sanctuary

Sanctuary

it must be me.

the verses are there,

this room is called “sanctuary” for a reason,

with glass as stained as me

depicting a savior as anxious as me.

whom shall i fear?

of whom shall i be afraid?

i don’t know

and it’s not important.

i’m still shaking

trying to be still and

no matter what

i don’t know who He is.

God, you say that darkness is as light to you

but i can’t see my hands in front of my face.

i’m swimming in shadows,

used the last of my oxygen cursing myself. 

and i’m afraid of what i’ll see if i turn on the lights

this sin demands payment in blood so i pour myself out.

i am the one who deserves these lines carved over and over

yet you are well acquainted with pain and panic

you have seen the earth you created stained with your fear

you are scarred with the reminder of all the weight you chose to carry

because somehow, you love me

you named the worthless worth dying for.

now i look in the mirror, at ribs painted red with shame and inked black with grace,

and i still can’t see the stars for the night

i am thirsty in a salt-water sea

if grace is an ocean, i am drowning

i have tasted and seen that the Lord is

gone. you redeemed me and sold me back

you forgave and gave away.

where is my identity when i can’t find you?

where is your rescue when anxiety steals my cries for help?

all i have are these answers

everything i used to know crumbling on the rocks.

all i have are these questions:

how will i ever be enough?

but, Lord, i can see the glass

the image of you next to red-stained grass

you sweat blood so i wouldn’t have to 

you are teaching me to sing in the dark

but this i know with all my heart

his wounds have paid my ransom.