35.
Can clay say to potter, Why did you make me
this way?
Clay traitor greets potter with faithless kiss.
36.
Soldiers kick up dust beneath urgent angry feet.
Creator
of stars and soil is still. Dust covers Him.
37.
Before they flee do His shame-faced friends recall
briefly
palm fronds, dusty road, humble king on donkey?
38.
My feet, like theirs, carry the fallen earth’s dust.
Like theirs,
my heart collects all the muck of the city’s pride.
39.
Mired in my muck, You carry Your own tree, who
carved whole
worlds; now Your palms are graven with nails.
40.
Every minute skin sheds dead cells by tens of
thousands.
Dead skin turns to dust. Can dust’s life return?
-
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The Consolations of Writing 
I am His
Jesus’ body,
for my sin
Cut.
Sinless flesh,
for my shame
Slashed
Unstained blood
for my death
Spilt
His great Love
For my hate
exchanged.
Perfect sacrifice
for my life,
Accepted.
No more an enemy
I am forever
His.
Thanks for the reflections you’ve posted over Lent. Mine is a simple affirmation.
Hope you get rest over the break.