I'm here to say - I don't know.
The road before me is veiled to my eyes, but not His.
No longer will I hand you the acceptable answer.
His ways are higher, they are greater, they are beyond understanding.
I refuse to affix blocks in a pattern that conform to comfort.
I'm here to admit I've tried.
My attempts are akin to describing a panoramic view,
the words to justify a scene are like a child's attempt to draw a sunset.
Really any personal effort to capture His essence is like a crayon-drawn sinking sun.
Beyond the chapter He's authored as of late,
the stories He scripted up to these moments -
seem sweetly unattainable, yet they abide in the ink of every line.
His goodness and care laces the black liquid.
He wrote to tell me before this began that He would take care.
Before He called out for me to jump,
arms of ever-comfort were wrapped around.
In action was shown the depth of His love, as on the day the curtain tore.
The eternal love writing He continues to read to me.
Each vowel, consonant, letter an invitation to once again step to the ledge.
And the accompanying embrace always the love-action that shouts -
"For freedom, I came. So I may offer it to you. Now, let's jump."
