Writing Warmup: Stay Close
Written on 5/27/25 as a personal exercise. If it means not a thing to another, so be it, and praise the Lord anyway that he would give me something to comfort my heart alone.
‘I’ve got to stay close, haven’t I?’
I would be foolish to long for independence. I have been foolish. Though what a relief it is that You draw feeble fools into Your arms, without a worry of staining Your hands. When I loosen my grip long enough to gaze upon Your face, it’s free of disgust and disappointment. And when I look to Your hands, which were wrapped so tightly around me, they’re clean. I blink every time, having expected that surely this time my sin would have stained them. Except that day never comes, and it never will. I know that. But what a curious thing, the way we forget the things we know. I suspect that is the purpose of remembrance. ‘Do this in remembrance of me.’ You knew we were near-sighted enough to forget, weak enough that we could not stay awake even a few more hours. How we love to forget, love to sleep. Our selfish passivity ought to be more alarming than we often find it.
Even now, I find myself considering how good I feel writing something a little too close to poetry, wondering why I don’t do it more. My offering of praise is tainted by self-indulgence. Forgive me for that, for only warming my pride near the fires of Your righteousness, when I should have cast it in to burn. I singe the edges, only to blow them out at the first sign of a flame, telling myself such is satisfactory. Do I not realize it burns my hands, repeating the action again and again?
This next time, I’ll cast it in, surely, I will, weeping all the while. And before it has even cooled, You’ll sweep a finger through the remains of my precious pride, all turned to ash. I’ll settle beside You, where I ought to remain, watching intently as You brush away cinders from the small, unassuming thing left in the wake of my feeble obedience. ‘Humility,’ You say, pressing the stone into my palm. It’s uncut, unrefined, and unexpectedly heavy, considering the size. I’m not sure I could carry it on my own for long, and Your eyes tell me I am correct in my assumption.
‘I’ve got to stay close, haven’t I?’
You nod, humming a quiet confirmation, but You make no move to stand, offering a moment of rest. I’ll accept it, remembering my weakness, remembering I’ve no understanding of my next steps without Your light falling over the path. I’ll knit my fingers in Yours, unstained despite my sin, and the heat of judgment is cooled by Your affection. There I’ll remain, until You pull me to my feet and show me where to follow.
‘I’ve got to stay close, haven’t I?’
