This is my church.


This is where She reaches me and asks questions of me,
engaging my heart, soul and mind.
Sunlight illuminates what is wet and green,
reflections of the pool water dance on the ceiling.

Life is – in this instant it is –
it is sun and rain,
smell and taste of coffee,
laughter and ease of a relationship that has been born again.

This is my church. 
The rain on the tin roof, cozy pj’s, messy hair and big blanket.
This is where my heart is filled,
on this couch, not in a pew.

This is worship.
The wonder and joy that comes with exploring the words within,
not the kind with hands raised high in a crowd, the glancing around,
the patriarchal worship of the church I have known.

This is praise
Lifting high my pen and adoring the creation of the words you give.
The paper, the ink,
rebirth of what has been stored within.

This is my religion.
To love the voice within.
To give her space to grow – to protect her and guide her.
To love my God as I love myself – since God is within me and I am as God.

But then there I go again –
getting lost in the meaningless of life.
Where do I go when my head over takes my heart?
How do I find her again?

I must go back to my church, my pew, my worship, my praise, my religion, my pen –
this is where she is, this is where she has always been,
she has always been within.

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