AP

Inspired by Joni Eareckson Tada’s book ‘Glorious Intruder’

I stand outside the door in this earth-built body—

the very clay he wore the day he spat

and kneaded mud—and pressed it on a blind man’s eyes—

trespasser upon the cosy dark—

imaging the flashing skies.

The wind fusses at the latch—

Rumour seeps beneath—

a lamplit room—a feast—a wonder without end—

I long to go in—to be steeped in it—

drenched—to drink the flood.

Be patient, they say—keep looking up—

the Morning Star is yours already.

And I—who dropped it somewhere in the small change of days—

am afraid.

Waiting room—the fluorescent hum—

the uncomfortable chairs—the clock gone heavy past midnight—

and no doctor anywhere.

Could-have-been—might-have-been—

they click through me like a ratchet— springs—hinges—widgets—spinning

loose—

My mind a cornered thing—

pulled tight against the current, trembling at the seam.

Yet like Saul struck down on the Damascus Road—

blind—and held—

I hold on—I pray fervently in the dark—

Lord Jesus—be my mind—

my vivid memory—inseparable from yours.

In weakness—I am not forsaken.

I bring my sacrifice of praise

to the One made sin for me—

and take my small share in his suffering—

I let in the Sonlight—love unbounded—a peace not mine—

He pours grace—stirs the embers—

to a fire exactly enough—

He makes no mistakes.

I find myself again—

an easy armour.

I leave the shallows—

the deep current takes me—

and I weigh my trials at last—

featherweight—each one—transformed utterly.

At the head of the table the King stands waiting—

and bids me welcome.

– Nicos Kaloyirou