Prodigal Heart, Child of the Morning

And I am a child, running fast, fast, and my feet can barely catch the other one as I run, hard, towards your open arms. And in your arms I find that all my fears are made of dust.
Dust.
And all my demons are but shadows in the dark, and I am a child of the morning.
Why should I fear the morning?
First Light is my Father’s name.
Light is my identity.
Hope is my friend.
Every breath I take is made of atom and love.

But forgetting is a friend, and I welcome him once again into my home. He tells me to spend my love on distant things, and to drink of the cup of Selfishness, and to embrace the woman called Pride.

And you watch me as I run after myself, and leave the light of the morning, and the warmth of your arms.

You let me run, for you love me more than you want me.

But now my chest is heavy, wrought with burdens, worries, and fear.
Heavy.
This weight drives my every step, stumbling, and I walk like a drunk man, distraught with confusion, prodded by Independence.
I can do it.
I can do it.
Father, I lied.
I cannot do this thing, this hard and heavy thing called life, for it is made of lust and love, fear and peace, sorrow and joy, and I cannot choose between anything. They each pull me and I stretch out my hands, but then I remember that you first stretched out your beautiful, beaten hands for me, and I barely hold your name on my tongue when you come running, once again, to my side.
And you take my heart, heavy, made of stone, and give me something new.
A heart.
Made of flesh, filled with blood.
Alive.
Beating.
Beating.

And suddenly I find myself again in your arms.
Oh prodigal son that I am.
Why do I forget the garden of your arms?
In that garden is all I need.
In that garden I find you.
In that garden I find me.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to the heavens of my thoughts, you are there.
If I make my bed in the hell of my emotion, behold, you are there.
If I take the wings of my mourning,
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea of my fears,
even there your hand shall hold me.

For there is no darkness too dark for you.
There is no trouble too troubling for you.
There is no hardship too hard for you.

All is as light to you.
For you are light.
And so am I.