Awe

Meet me, here

See me, standing

barefoot on sacred ground.

Who am I to know you?

You who spread water on ground

and hovered there, Holy.

Sent life into waves

and lights into sky.

You who authored 

breath and thunder, 

dreamt music 

and canyons

Who am I to know you?

I am doubt-

dust that blows

from faithful stance

to wayward son,

unworthy of the scars

between your palms.

Who am I to know you?

You are unfathomable;

a lifetime in old pages

on calloused knees

yields fetal graspings

of who you are.

Your goodness grants glimpses

of understanding

mere tastes of your abyss,

yet I will cling to them

full, thankful.

For who am I,

outside of

awe of you?

Written by Rachel Hall