December 1, 2008

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  Healing Power

   

  How can I justly accept your grace Majestic Maker?

  I was not born a giver, but birthed as a taker.

  How can I clothe myself in linen divine when flesh is all I see?

  You remind me, Sweet Child of Mine, you were reborn in me.

  You brush my face gently with the palm of your hands,

  My eyes like flowers in the sun—bloom. The irises expand.

  Wind swirling around my form, your body touches mine.

  You hold me in the violent weather; your fingers shine.

  Out of them comes healing. I feel that power run.

  I’m lifted on the heights. You reveal your healing has begun.

  Compassionate eyes, you look down from the mountain.

  I reach for your hand, tears from your face flow like a fountain.

  My love, you say, extends farther than the east from the west.

  My curative power outweighs the most stringent medicinal test.

  I long to release healing on my children,

  and touch the faces of my loves.

  I tell you the truth;

  unexpected healing rain will fly to them like doves.

  Helplessly gazing, my heart felt love beyond detection.

  This holy man’s sacrificial provision offset mere affection.

  Speechless—

  to feel a heart that beats with warm-blooded tenderness—

  Unfathomable—

  to breathe in the aroma of an atmosphere of gentleness!

  What grace is this? What selfless devotion?

  His waves of emotion flow like the ocean.

  Like a flash of lightning, his power released;

  And all the cries, sickness, and dying deceased.

  You are Holy, I cried from the depths of my soul.

  He kissed my forehead, as the thunder rolled.

  May we always seek his face and sing in esteem.

  God is brilliant, a Miracle Maker, Supplier, and Supreme.

   

  Kimberly Willingham

   

  Psalm 68:13 

  "Even while you sleep among the campfires, 
         the wings of my dove are sheathed with silver,
         its feathers with shining gold."

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