with washed feet

I come,

to the shadow of

your cross

I come,

holding my doubt and confusion

before me, before you…

I see hurt,

I see pain, (again)

as the world cries alleluia.

I cry hope,

and why,

and what if….

I cry alleluia too, but,

may my cries be muted,

please, for all that is

incomplete in me,

for all that is incomplete?

I have doubted and feared,

I have doubts and fears,

I am not yet whole enough

to cry “he is risen”

… while I know it

I don’t yet know it…

so bring Easter softly to me….

may I bring Easter softly to you,

in hope of wholeness?