Learning to love differently is hard
Love with the hands open, love
With the doors banging on their hinges
The cupboard unlocked, the wind
Roaring and whimpering in the rooms
Rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
That thwack like rubber bands
In an open palm.
Creator,
grant me the grace to long for You
and not my illusions of You,
to know You as love's questions
rather than as binding answers.
to rest in the hope
of what I do not understand about You,
and to be forever willing
to give up what I know about You
in order to seek You afresh.