Sunday, July 10, 2011

Red on white

The cup sits.

And for some reason,
when I'm handed the cup,
all I wanted to do with it
was throw it against the 
white cloth
on the table.
Like it was too much. 
Like I couldn't handle
that much grace.

And all I can see in my head
is the red against the white.
I'm scared,
scared of how stained I am.
And I'm afraid to drink the cup.
That cup of sacred holiness.
That cup of Him.
I feel so unworthy,
so unworthy to be filled with 

And it takes a little while to realize that's the cup is the only way I ever will be worthy.

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