.3

unless i feel the marks upon his hand.
unless i put my fingers where the nails were forced.
unless i put my hand into his side.
i will not believe.
i will not.
i cannot.
can i?

softly he comes to me, in a whisper of whirlwind and shadow.
or is it just a dream?
is he the dream?
but wait.
he didn’t come to me in a dream.
but i’m writing it.
why am i writing it?
to make you all think that the creator of the universe comes to me by night and whispers sweet things in my ears, and in the morning when i wake i feel his presence so strongly it cause me to worship him all day long and sing of his glory everywhere i go?
am i that holy?
do i even think he is?
do i truly believe that he is worth every second of my life or they merely words i sing?
do i truly believe he formed my very being?
do i truly believe that he cherishes my heart and chases after it every single day?
if he chases me, why can he not catch me?
am i too fast for God?
am i too elusive for the maker of sea and sky?

dare he touch me?
dare i let him?

i wish that it were simple.
i wish that faith was not necessary.
i wish that every time i prayed, he showed up.
i wish i believed that he would show up.
i wish that i would be healed.
i wish that miracles would happen.
big ones.
not little ones.
i want more.
i think he wants to do more.
why doesn’t he do more?
i’m so tired of getting excited over vague words of knowledge and praying for colds.
i’m so tired of wondering if his Spirit is in the room, or if it’s just a well-played key.
i’m sick of hearing stories of his power and demanding proof.
i’m so sick of the lack of faith i have.
lord, i believe.
help my unbelief.
help me.