White Stone Journal

When you found me,

You took my words

And body

And intellect

And recreated them.

I am grateful.

Then you saw the anger,

The love of things,

The use of people.

You took these, too,

And gave me a kind of peace.

I am grateful.

But now you have come

To my pure heart

That loves you,

And I am surprised

Because you say it does not.

Instead, you have found it

Surrounded by envy,

Vanity, jealousy and anger.

When you cut through these,

Pride flowed out

And my disease was exposed.

Now I am here

With my heart open

But not healed.

I cannot bear my own stench

And I cannot

Put everything back

And pretend to be well

Because I have seen my guts

And I cannot bear it.

I cannot live like this,

And I cannot go back.

Please finish the work

You have begun.

I can go nowhere else

And no one else can help me.

My heart is breaking

With disgust and revulsion

At my own wretchedness.

Pity me, Lord Jesus

Son of David.

William E. Rushman, September 1997