old words, my words?

I found an old (a few months) poem last night and I was amazed - that I couldn't remember writing it, that it so easily spoke to all that I continue to feel, that I wasn't embarrassed by it. I wonder what of my theology exactly is revealed in it, but here it is nonetheless.

September 27, 2005

I understand the hardness of God
when sin is too gentle a word.
What is it to dream God's dreams here
and be broken again and again
with God's own heart?
Every childhood stolen
by our indifference
and unwillingness to see
God, I cannot hold another heart, another life
and my prayers are as much for myself now
when I've lost the words
with my teeth set on edge
with the little girl in me
unable to admit the nightmare
But God doesn't mince words.
God is not comfortable.
God is the anger and hurt and fear
in the little girl eyes
that become our cross, our burden;
The curtain ripped,
laying bare our inhumanity.
It cannot happen here;
there's no space in my life
for the pain
of the children eating sour grapes
for our sins, for our dreams
that wash them out
white-lining the world.

God is not sad -
God is the rock against which
we throw out sadness
until we break with it
and can no longer look away.
This is the hardness of God -
that holds us up against the world
not letting us run away
branding us in this moment
with the cross
that we might stand,
that I am forced beyond
these tears
that God's dream persists by sheer force
that does violence to our pretensions.

I understand the hardness of God
watching a Son die again
and again
that we might not be wholly broken
by the dreams God lets us see.

To the only faithful reader I know I have - I do not deserve your encouragement, but God knows I do need your prayers. God bless you!