We stood on the shore, drifting in and out of our own misplaced reminiscence, ambivalence coursing through our once vibrant ,now broken luminescence, pretentious contentiousness gnawing at the fabric of relationships we left in our wake.
We sat, feet in the sand and buried deep. How long did we believe we could hold on to our past offenses as they dove into the sea like stones that would rest at the bottom of God’s shrinking memory, sensory perception making me perceive that I needed all my sins like all my sins needed me.
Like forgiveness meant nothing, so I could continue on my spree. And as long as God was still good, I had an excuse for still being me.
And as the cold water rushes past my chest, and I stand, buried up to my neck, I cry out for a savior that could save me from the man I never wanted to be. Oh, sweet release, for a heart that can fly free past this world’s cruel bonds.
The singer sang that our sins were stones at the bottom of the ocean, but did he count on me swimming deep enough to raise them from their graves and indulge in emptiness again and again and again?
And, if God really has amnesia, then what does that mean for me? Those fading memories sing exoneration’s song, clawing past all my insufficiencies and resting in that He is enough. Before the throne of God above… I am emptied of excuses, I am left all too aware of all that I am not.
So I stand on the shore, waves of nostalgia and regret pulling me in like a rip tide, to bury me with all my past disgraces, wherein the traces of all my mistakes would tether to me to God’s indelible wrath and that I myself would sink in his fading memories. …I have a strong and perfect plea… Please, please Jesus, set me free.
But instead I stand before a throne, and the Son looks forward with eyes ablaze and says “my child, you are set free.” …a great High Priest whose name is love, who ever lives and pleads for me.