A man whitewashed the wall
along the court below our balcony.
I grimaced as dirt from plants I potted
drifted over the edge and down.
The wall won't stay white long.
I am like that wall, always collecting
an array of dirty specks.
They stick and hold; I cannot wash them off.
They must be covered by Another.
We read this morning
about the holy mountain and the tabernacle
and the need for sacrifice to cover sin.
But it was only so good.
"Why did people die when they touched something
where God is?" Evie asked.
And I realized that our speckled selves
can't touch God's purity
...unless we are covered.
And only one Cover can make us pure enough
to touch a holy God.