I am covered with soot,
My clothes sodden with dirt,
My spirit broken with hurt.
I pick up a brush in attempt to scrub off the murk.
Harder and harder I rub,
Until my skin is sore,
Still I know there is yet more,
More to wash away.
I ache to be clean and cry for the want of purity.
No amount of scrubbing removes the caked on filth.
The tears on my cheeks only harden the mud.
Up above, the sky cracks and shines with storm.
Rain from heaven comes,
Pouring over the dirt covering my body.
When the rain ceases,
And I am dry,
There is no longer any dirt to fry.
My clothes, purer than fresh snow,
My hair bright as a halo,
My skin all a glow.
I can feel the Lord beaming,
He sends down warmth from that high blue expanse,
Engulfing as an embrace.
In His smile He says,
“Behold, daughter, I have made you clean!”
(Photo and gif credit to Pinterest)
The Bookshop Barista 