heal me

i long to reach out and touch the fringes of His garment. but it has occurred to me of late that i might not be healed of that dear affliction which i find most troubling, but rather some other, deeper pain or ill i know not of.

something obviously calamitous, an issue of blood, leprosy, blindness, death, these things all were cured. but how many had their hearts deeply righted by a touch.

oh that that garment would waft by me, that i might press upon Him and loose His power.

but there is so much about me that is simply by design. signature flaws, if you will.

a prophetic type once likened me to a choice vessel. a signature piece i think she called it. not the bowls and urns of everyday duty, but a piece hidden in the Master's workshop that only a true collector would ever see or think to inquire after.

such an honor and compliment, is far too grand for me to make up. i do not think this way of myself. i think myself mostly ignoble. and ignobility suits me. i'm roughly hewn by my estimation. fashioned with rough hands and perhaps a bit askew.

but what if i'm not? what if i can't even see the woman He created in her true light? weighed by just scales?

i've had illusions of myself for far too long and while i don't foresee much about that changing any time soon, perhaps it is the thing most in need of healing. that i can't estimate my own worth is not important to me, but perhaps in devaluing myself i rob the Artist some glory.

i had not thought i'd write this today. it is simply here, like most things i write, they come unbidden. but i look back over them and say, yes. you are true. you are mine. and i welcome you.

so i leave you with truth unforeseen, but welcome.