Dust.

For something different, here's a poem I began to write some time ago, and never could put it together quite right ...until now.
Dust.

It is a daunting idea; to be oneself, but not.
Breath in lungs, but still not sure of life.
A star, a galaxy, a universe full; dust, rocks, gravity.
We are powerless.
I will never know how to be God's critic without the answers.
I know what man has taught, I know those laws and I can feel their proof,
But what can I do with that?
I can't move.

Bracing oneself against wind and rain and wrath and force;
I have been created thus.
We use nerves and tongues to curse You--
Braver than we ever should be--
Any of this could vanish because You choose to speak.
Why can't we see You in everything?
Everything, everything;
Dust, or salt, if You would just think it.

I have wrestled thoughts in magnitude,
to run, to hide, to be proud of who I am.
Excuses to sort through.
I am nothing without You.
Brick upon brick upon brick,
Walls to climb up, up, up.
But shattered, I fall on bruised knees.
And through cracks I feel the light touch my skin, my face, my hands.
Is this what they call grace? It is.

As my heart beats, as my lungs expand and decrease,
I could care less what else my existence means;
I have felt MY God.
Creator of all, Savior to all, Lord of my life.
Nothing my own mind or heart or soul could create or dream.
Heaven's light in my eyes, I blink.
Awake in a new way, conscious of my sin, but forgiven.
You call to me, "Child, come close. Be still and know that I am God."
I lean on You. I love You.
I know you are more real than anything else.