I see you clearest in the part of me that doesn't know your touch. How I wish it didn't take my dark to know your light! If I'm honest I have always known that I was made of dust, with the image of my God and King inside. You knew that I was drowning from my first breath. I kept saying "let me live, I'll fix it when I'm older". Now I'm called a man, and my dust is bringing death. If only there were someone with a hand on both our shoulders.
Before those words had left my lips, the weight left my back and fell on his. My hard-earned shame, burned up in grace. Now when I run home again, and fall at your feet, I know what I'll ask for: to call myself your son, and sit at your table.
Lesser men might not aspire, better men feel they don't require. It is my joy to hold and need, desperately need you.