Approaching the Throne

Approaching the Throne

Step by step

I approach Your throne

My mind - a whirlwind,

my nervousness so great

it almost overcomes me.

Who am I to approach You?

Who am I to deserve Your regard?

Deep breaths.

One step at a time.

Seeking to remember who I am,

why I am here,

amidst the awe of who You are.

An awe-filled fear washes over me

as I turn the corner and see You on Your throne.

You know me.

You see all of me

my thoughts

my deeds.

I wish I could read Your thoughts.

I wear the best of all I have,

borrowed robes,

all white.

The fabric is as light as Your breath

sweet and fragrant from the anointing oils,

again,

borrowed.

I am closer now.

I see the folds of Your robes - spotless;

the curves of Your face - flawless;

the sweep of Your hair as it graces Your brow - golden, no glowing;

Your sweet lips - they … smile.

My own lips part in wonder

that I, dressed in a dead man’s clothes,

should receive a smile from You out of all others.

Dare I look into Your eyes?

What would I see there if I did?

- when I do?

Do I have the strength?

Deep.

Gray and blue,

circling shades of deep brown and golden hues,

swirling eddies of green and violet,

ever changing, and yet always the same,

impossible to grasp in one glance,

almost as if their depth is so unfathomable

that what my eyes see as change truly has been there all along.

Grace and mercy overflow

wrapping me in their gentle touch;

love of such depth

that a blush rises to my cheeks.

Your eyes

draw me forward.

I am at the foot of Your throne.

I bend my knee

to lay my head at Your feet,

to kiss those blessed feet.

As I touch the tip of Your scepter, You ask,

“What is it, child? What is your request?”

If I have found favor with You, O King,

grant me my life - this is my petition.

And spare my people - this is my request.

For I and my people have been sold

for destruction and slaughter and annihilation.

You say to me,

“You are my Daughter;

today I have become Your Father.

Ask of me,

and I will make the nations your inheritance,

the ends of the earth your possession.”

Tears fall

upon Your broken bleeding feet.

I began to cry I don’t know when.

All I’ve done -

all I’ve been -

they were the cause

of the holes spilling Your precious blood.

Sobs catch in my throat

when I hear the moan that escapes Your lips.

Frozen.

I look up to your face -

and see tears streaming down those perfect curves.

You weep for me, have been weeping for me;

and those tears begin to fall on my head

drenching me,

washing me pure.

These borrowed robes of mine, turned red from You tears - Your blood,

become my own

and begin to shine.