im standiing in the wonder of a worthwhile storm
made of truth: its ironic
as the lies whip arouond and around
slapping every inch of me
through my lashes i see the glint of what im needing
as it swirls amidst the trash
i need it
i need it.
its mine.
-theres another bit!
as i continue to strain to see, i do
and it continues and theres more.
its compelling me, and im afraid- but this is the storm IM in,
with MY bits being lost to me if i dont meet the
Wind halfway, if i dont extend,
what will all this be about?
it will be about me. swirling about me. swirling. but just
a hazy swirl. people may comment on the color and texture,
and form and shape, temperature and_______
but what? so what?
so i reach.
fear prickles my skin, as does everything in the storm that
cuts, slaps, pokes, and rams.
ifind i can deal with some prickles.
i feel His hand guiding my arm. this isnt comfortable.
i caught some trash.
great.
oh!
i got a piece!
some becoming,
something i am.
the next moment isnt so difficult- and slowly
i will leaern to just stand in the eye
perpetually extended into the storm.
death shall not rob my___________.
death shall not sting my__________.
death shll not kill my____________.
its only a flesh wound.
and, by God, i am so much more than

as i am finding all my glintings and radiances
Abba, i am beginning to love the way you
sprinkle yourself into the midst for me to find
and guide my arm for reaching.