Tuesday, November 17, 2015


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
      without incineration
         ...unless we are covered.

And only one Cover can make us pure enough
   to touch a holy God.

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