A Psalm of My Youth

A Psalm of My Youth

Yahweh— even when I was far from you, drugged out and practicing tripping into my own mind and into other realms and thinking I was God until I was completely shattered, you already had a plan that was far more advanced than any imaginable.

When I was boozed out, weeping and not wanting to live and not wanting to die—you had my back, even though I didn’t know it at the time.
When I was in tremendous pain from—you had already had a plan.

Papa Yah- I have done nearly everything to mess stuff up in this gift of a life you’ve given me.
People born into far worse circumsatances have made more than me—born virtually a prince compared to the other billions of people on the planet, and I threw it back in your face, flipped you off, pissed all-over the gift then wept like a spoiled brat when I realized just how I had categorically blown part of my life.

But none of that matters, Lord—because you are able to take even the most damaged units; units even more damaged than me and use them to establish your cause, your works, your works…

Here is wisdom: you are the poet, we are your poems, and now I weep with joy knowing that you still have allowed
my heart to pump blood and air to enter my lungs.

I am still part of your spectacular design, and though I look back with a forlorn shake of the head, I see nothing but your hand in steering me away from utter destruction and bringing me to what it’s really all about: getting with you and what you’re all about.

We are your images and your imagers.
All of this muck and paint and words and pain and sweat and tears and stuff work together to those who love you.

I love you, Jesus.