Homecoming

You were my first love, but I was brash.

My rebel heart desired trash.

Like the prodigal, I went away.

To prove to you, I had a say.

A dusty calling? I wanted more.

I sought the world and left the lore.

I ate man’s wisdom and I got fat,

With all my feasting; a strayed expat.

But as I ate and drank my fill,

My withered soul grew thinner still.

I sat at counsel. Consulted men.

I sought their wisdom within my pen.

One said, "Take this."

One said, “Trust us. Disbelieve that ancient stuff.

A man named Jesus? How could he save?

Save what? We’re meant to live this way!”

The days grew dark, I lost all hope.

Yet, in the night,

Your voice, it spoke.

“Come home my child. You’re sick. You’re ill.

It breaks my heart to be here still.”

“Here?” I ask in disbelief.

“Not here!” I yell in anguished grief.

“Yes, here.” He says,

And I look nigh to see the dawn within the sky.

“I’m close you see. I never leave.

And as you cry, I, too, here grieve."

"Come home,” He says, “Come home to me.”

A twisted shriek resounds my plea:

“Not worthy.” I holler, “Unworthy!” I weep.

Yet feel His hand upon my cheek.

I gaze up to see His face.

No condemnation.

Just love. Just grace.

“Come home.” He lifts me,

and I sink in to smell the myrrh upon His skin.

“You’re real.” I whisper.

“You’re real.” I say.

He carries me home all the way.

As we get closer, the light becomes bright.

My Jesus unwearied, He walks through the night.

And there in the morning, when we come though,

I look to my body, the one that I knew.

No more is it stained. No more with the stench.

My body transformed into what it was meant.

He places me within the fold. He kisses my head and turns to go...

“No, Jesus!” I panic.

My hands go to cleave, then I see His blood upon my sleeve.

“Redeemed.” He smiles. “Redeemed.” He laughs.

And just like that, He saunters back,

To rescue another within the black.