“Saturday” by Jada, T.R.A.C. Camper from Austin, TX
On Saturday Jesus sits in a corner of my bedroom.
He moves the piles of socks and clothes over gently and tucks his feet up resting his chin on his bony knees
Jesus sits in the mix of the laundry and the various nicknacks from my week and I sit on my bed while there aren’t any words exchanged in the five feet between us
the molder of the moon and stars with dirty brown hair and broad shoulders the small girl with red eyes and a weakening shred of faith
Just . . . looking at each other
For the last few years of my life I’ve wondered what I’d say if God appeared here
if he sat across from me full of glory and power
what questions I would ask what things I’d wanna know, how I would praise him what thanks I would give
But here he is and here I am and I have nothing to offer
Speechless in front of the creator of both word and my mouth
no remarks of his Grace or mercy
no remembrance of his glory
not even a clean room
and he does not radiate glory
he does not parade power
he looks like a man who has seen life
not one who created it
scars on his hands
Scruff on his cheeks
dirt under his fingernails
hair that looks like it’s in need of a cut
utterly beautiful
terribly rugged
and so here we sit
it might be minutes or hours
I’m not quite sure
Just silence
until the space is too much
the weight of sorrow suffocating
my cheeks flush red and I can feel their warmth
I’ve always been good at keeping from crying but it all breaks loose
breath coming quick
lungs filling with sin
while my lips pour out confession
and when I find my words
they are full of anger,
of hurt
of tears
of brokenness and sin fully human
the silence has been broken
and not in the name of reverence
the man across from me does not hear my shaking sobs from clouds above
or a mighty throne
while I grovel at his feet
he hears them in my bedroom
where my candle is lit and my shades are drawn
he listens and he hears
when i’m finished
tears fill his very human eyes
and with his very human and very calloused hands
he wipes them away
and then he reaches out and does the same to mine
and then there’s silence once more
my anger is out of fuel
and shame calls a false victory
and he uncurls his feet
and walks over to my broken person
and he kneels at the foot of my bed
and he wraps me in his arms
arms full of scars
hands full of holes
his hair tickles my cheek
and he is warm
he pulls away
and holds my face so gently
the creator of life
holding together a broken girl
my cheeks reddened with guilt and shame
the shame of anger at the man who spoke my name into existence
he smiles
oh daughter of mine
do you really think I can’t take a small girl’s anger
need I remind you
I conquered evil itself
in a whisper
that could only be heard in the inches that separate us
he mutters
nothing is too weighty
then sorrow met its death
and grace planted flowers in my soul
the simplicity of forgiveness
I marveled
at his kindness towards me
I utter
but you look so human
oh daughter
and he laughs
the laugh of the god of the universe is loud
and yet soft
and it is hopeful
and he wipes my tears away and says
my love, I am
but I am also so god
a smile breaks my lips apart
then me and the carpenter from Nazareth
laugh together
In the midst of sadness
we laugh
not because he does not share in my mourning or anger
but because his palms the ragged and scarred are quite large
oh to be reminded of their magnitude
because in the end
after all the aching and death and anguish and foolishness
after the sun truly sets
And the streams run dry
and the earth stops spinning
there will be eternal Joy
eternal laughter
but for now I rest my head on the shoulder of my Savior
and he strokes my tangled hair
he takes my worries and shares their weight