double me over



On that morning, I'm so upright. 
In my own eyes. 
Popping or crawling or dragging from bed and starting the work. 
Like the woman who cares for her house as I 
clean them
dress them
clean me
dress me
feed me
Fuss and pester over the hairs and the old mascara and 
the too tight pants. 


And hours passed and
there are bites of the tongue
and sweat on the brow
and children to herd
and cars to park
and then
We're there. 


Hopefully, hopefully. 
In the throne room. 
Before Him, with our brothers and sisters
calling and crying and keeping our eyes fast on Him. 
Fingers over my mumbling lips and then arms 
thrust in praise. 


And then.
Doubled over. 
Hunched in my chair 
as I feel the weight of Him
cleaning me
(by His blood)
dressing me 
(in righteousness)
feeding me 
(with his goodness and wholeness). 


And the rags I'm wearing feel like just that. 
And the paint on my face feels like just that. 
I'm just a lady. 
Doubled over by the goodness of God. 
Staring down at a journal, a coffee cup, some shoes that now 
make me feel silly for trying to 
dress up this life. 


If you can 
Well, You always Can. 
Double me over, Father. 
On the Monday.
On Thursday. 
In the middle of the day. 
In the middle of the night. 
Pry my fingers open till I relinquish every
shred of mighty or strong or capable. 
And fill this weakened 
doubled over girl
with Your strength alone.