This should be written backwards, the cart before the horse.
We knew nothing of the should’s and ought’s. But we do. Piles
of years tangled together, one would expect the bad to choke out
the blessed Eden good, but it still blooms like crazy. Borrowed faith,
extended grace, mercy given. When at my worst, the prodigal filth,
you showed me God, the lover of my soul. The one who removed
the names of Baal from my mouth, remembered by name no more.
You, the very likeness of God. The Bridegroom, and I your Bride.
But not so perfect.
Stumbling into a great desert. Was it me? Was it you? Was it
dreadful providence that caused us to reach our necks to find
a drop of water? We will help each other to not forget the source
when we are wandering dry and parched. We will help each other.
We will dance in the drought, change in your pocket like blossoms
jingling. We have nothing, we have everything. We do things wrong
and right. Nineteen years and we’ve learned a thing about should’s
and ought’s. The weedy blooms still tangled in a fierce embrace.
We still do.
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