Come

God’s Spirit tugs, sometimes,
at others she tears at my insides,
saying: Come.
Come from this place of weary comfort
and grey coldness,
where the living is by halves
and sweet sameness cloys;
where edges are dull,
and blunted living safe;
where contentment is exalted and worshipped
and adventure and uncertainty
are disdained and distrusted.
Come to where life is sharp
and uneasy, the aching is strange,
and nakedness honest.
Let surprise and unexpected
delight warm your depths.
I promise you
there will be friendship to match the pain,
joyful wonder to accompany fear’s uncertainty,
and much tear-soaked love.
Come,
let rushing wind
and Pentecost fire be your home.
 
© Ken Rookes

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