This Linen Heart

Please,
May I place my fleece
before You again?
You know, on the threshing floor?

You always know.

May I spread out a garment,
double-sided, twisted
inside out, and back again
only to find
You've unwinded
me?

Please, like my primal parents,
may I take something,
a twig, figleaf,
fashion for myself a covering,
only to find You
undressing my newly known nakedness,
and reclothing me
with a good thing?

But now I need to remove that
tanned varmit again,
not because I don't want it,
or need it,
or love its covering.

I need to test You.

I need to know,
beyond the shadow of turning and doubt,
that You are with me.
After all, is it not in Your coming with me
that I am great?

Please show me a sign of favor.
Once, twice, thrice over
and again.

Let me see Your fire devour my dinner,
let me lay out this pitiful,
beautiful, messy, and put together again
rag of a heart.
Drench it with the patience of Your kindness in my uncertain searching,
my careful regard,
and in my inscrutable dumbfoundedness
at the glory of Your response.
And yet I know You love this dialogue,
You hunger for it,
because it honors Your great worth,
and heals my heart, Your son,
now made strong.
Please dry this war-torn heart and soul,
dignify me with distinctions of grace,
and flood its surroundings
with the peace of Your presence.

May I know You, the Father,
with whom there is no shadow or variation
due to
change. May I know You, and that
You go with me, before me, and behind me,
and have sent me with full blueprint,
full steam ahead,
where only adventure, grace, healing,
and praise awaits us both.

Let me lay this fleece before You again.

You have my linen heart.