In the palm of His hand

The sun is setting over the woods, and the last lights are bouncing off my bedroom walls.  I am listening to banjo and fiddle and Jesus.

I am so alive tonight I can barely breathe for the wonder if it.  

This is what happens when I pay attention.

My family left to get their first ice cream of the season at Scoops.  I ran to the foot of the cross.  

I want to wash feet.

I want to break bread and eat.

I want to drink the cup and remember.  

Oh, if I would only stay here in the palm of His hand.  Safe.  Forgiven. Forever.

To find shelter,
(the song says)
in the palm of God, you need
to inhabit
its fissures--
the life and death
lines, the cracked
skin, the calluses
thickened
from long labor
with wood,
the generosity
of healing touch,
the skill for all that
Creation, all those
generous cures,
but deepest, the open
bloody hole
in which
your wrong
is drowned.

Secure, by Luci Shaw