Seeking His Face - Enough (Part 4)

ENOUGH

Seek My face, You wrote me.
My heart says, Your face, Lord, do I seek--
but how?
I can't visualize faces, 
even one I've just seen
on our waitress or bank clerk.
Even my husband's, 
when he is out of the room.
Others can do that.
I can't.

Your face, Lord, do I seek,
I have been seeking.
But why?
I expect You want me to see
Your kind eyes penetrating mine, 
beaming into Mine
Your compassion.
It's kind of You to offer, Lord,
but I don't need to see Your face
to know You love me.

Your face, Lord, do I seek--
kind of--because You command me to.
But without expectation.
Why would You want to look at me?
Spill that tender gaze on someone else
Don't waste Your attention on me.
They're hurting more. They matter more.
It's all right.
Turn away, Lord. Hurry to them. They need you!
I can wait.

I am not seeking Your face right now, 
not consciously. 
I'm reading a book or at the computer
or lying in bed.
I am seeing something, 
a piece of something,
in my imagination.
What is it?
The upper right corner of a scene.
Part of a face. One eye.
The left eye of a man.
He is not looking at me
but straight ahead
at something above both of us
to my left.

An eyebrow, part of a cheekbone,
a suggestion of jaw, 
a round of shoulder.
A man dark with sun and sweat.
In that one eye
such agony.
And something else: a longing for an end.
Even without seeing 
where the taut tendons lead,
I know.
This is You, isn't it?
Your face. Part of Your face.
Not the part, the frontal view, I expected.
Profile.

Speechless,
looking across my view,
You let me see Your love for me.
Not shiny feeling 
but birth-giving death.
Not Your love toward me 
but Your love on my behalf.
As evidence of that love
drips into those eyes,
runs from Your nose and chin,
You take on my enemy,
no holds barred--
with Your hands tied.

Motionless,
You rip open the lion's mouth,
wresting me from his jaws
and out from under his claws.
Bringing me home.
You show me 
all the love I can bear.
Enough to last--
and cherish--
for a lifetime.


Photo by KARIN, Jan/2002, #12/20 (portion)