Love Born of Spirit

A mother’s love

is tangible and true.

There is no doubt of it

for the babe at her breast.


The love of God

leaves room for doubt.

In our search for

milk and honey.


I am as one grumbling

in the wilderness;

descended from those

ancient wanderers.


Ripped from the womb

and cast to the ground.

I toil and I till

until Your return.


Return me to my womb,

that native land which raised me.

Or lead me across my Jordan,

through death into rebirth.


I never doubted my mother’s love:

so plain to see.

But you hide Your love:

I struggle to know it.


I was born of flesh,

I see with fleshly eyes.

And I felt the warmth

of my mother’s hands.


But You are spirit

known only by spirit.


If I must go,

then rip me from this land,

and cast me to the wind:

or feed me manna by Your hand.



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