It’s all I can do… A poem.

When the Holy Spirit comes down like this,
thick like a cloud of glory,
wide and strong like a pillar of fire,
solid like a column,

so that I am standing in the anointing
and thoughts are coming that I know are not mine,
unction is rising that does not feel forced:

It’s all I can do not to prophesy.

So when the Holy Spirit showed up again,
and my heart started thumping:
“Now is the moment,”
I did what I could, and opened my mouth.

I know,
when I stand to speak,
when I use the best phrases I know to convey
this solid thing that rises within me,
that some people might think I’m unhinged.
I know that it is tempting to get in God’s way:
“Look at me, I can hear God!”

But when the atmosphere is full,
when in the Temple, all are crying, “Glory!”
when I am surrounded by priests of the living God,
and when the mute have their voices raised in song,
It’s all I can do.

And,
in the Name of the Father,
and the Son,
and the Holy Ghost,
it was enough.

(I sit down, head in hands,
joyful, and humbled.)

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