An Image For Me To Keep

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The pastor stands and reads from Isaiah.

My heart quickens, and familiar words pour 

Off my tongue like a thick, dark wine.

By the Spirit, I see the Lord lay a finger lightly 

On my heart, and I gasp! Acute heat! 

Lovingly, He’s standing, tracing His Words embossed, 

Reading from the scroll of Isaiah on my heart. 

The symbols flame under His touch; They glow!

Fire fills me like an earthen hearth. 

I’m blown to raging with one gentle breath. 

Tears fall freely, seem to sizzle, some 

Fragrant mixture of material,

Some mystical exchange of the elements:

Spirit, fire, flesh, blood, breath, tears, wine. 

All mingle above my head, within my breast, upon my lap.

I know myself then, for He is knowing me.

I see myself then; He is seeing me. 

I am wholly myself, because He’s residing in me

Filling His temple with smoke and glory!

I wonder about the scene I must be making,

But it’s a wonder to me, because no one sees 

This alighting on me, these angels coming and going. 

When the pastor finished the passage, 

There was pressure on my chest. 

I can trace it now, days later: soft, smooth, and cool. 

It was a knuckle sinking keenly into my sternum.

The fire and heat melted my heart like wax, 

And He left His image here for me to keep.

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