Sitting with myself

I am a complicated man

Thank God complexity does not frighten Him.

He is neither surprised nor does He shy away
from the pursuit of my heart
or the work of making it whole.

I do not have to be simple to be loved.
I do not have to be perfect to be good.
I do not have to arrive neatly wrapped in proper packaging
to know the depths of gratitude and love,
to dwell at peace,
to finally feel at home within my own soul.

I do not have to make my home in black and white.
I can flourish in the gray.
I can be good in the in-between. 

For Grace has always known how to find me there.

For I know I desire her highest good,
and I know I pray for her deepest best.
And in my surrender
I am learning
the cost of the love that lives within my chest.

It does not have to be reciprocated to be love.
It does not have to remain to have mattered.
It does not have to be romantic to be love,
though my lover’s heart is daily enraptured.

It does not have to be neat to be love.
It does not have to be tidy.
It does not have to be understood to be love,
though I understand it honestly.

It does not have to be now to be love.
It does not have to be hopeless.
Its outcome does not have to be clear to be love,
but it must be patient.

It does not have to feel safe to be love,
though I am learning it is still good.
It does not have to be in its proper place to be love,
even if I wish it could.

It does not have to be without wounds to be love,
though each hurt is unintended.
It does not have to be saintly to be love
for it to still feel like heaven.

It does not have to be quiet to be love,
though its voice is not always spoken.
She does not have to be mine for this to be love,
but my heart must remain open…

To being remade by love,
To seeing my heart reimagined,
To being utterly undone by love
when my hands are finally free of expectation.

For it has to be given to be love.

So I freely offer it.

Not because I know where it will lead,
but because love is worthy of being given.

The altar does not require blood,

The payment is not our peace.

By faith and for this love 

I sacrifice my certainty.

With hope.
With breath.
With open hands.

And with prayers that ask for her good
before they ask for my own.