My bending turns to prostration
when the blinding knowledge of who God is
and who I am
becomes a reality in me.
Not even the tick of time is heard
only the ragged rending of my heart fills the silence.
God always gives me the grace:
the question is, will I accept
and allow Him to tear out by the roots
the shrubs of my own will.
In response to the overwhelming cry of the Holy Spirit living within,
wrapped in the swaddling clothes of trust
come Lord Jesus, come.
Entering the realm of pure faith
the stones of my emotions are hurled at me by satan
This is a thin place
only a tissue paper
separating the material from the spiritual
where I hear the sweet songs of God.
A very tiny breeze whispers,
live within the enclosed garden of My love.
I rest, put my folded hands in my open heart
And allow God to tell me that which He wishes me to know.