On Cold Fall Rain

I’d been working myself hollow,

still couldn’t catch a break.

Every door I leaned against had another lock in place.

Cold October rain was falling.

I kept staring at my feet,

thinking ’bout the years behind me as I walked that empty street.

There was a man beneath a tree,

soaked through, curled up small.

For a second I thought,

Stop.

But I didn’t stop at all.

I pulled my collar tighter

and left him in the rain.

Three blocks down,

I heard the tires scream my name.

I closed my eyes.

Then gravel.

Cold water in my hands.

I moved my fingers.

Took a breath.

Somehow I could stand.

Across the road,

that car lay broken

against an old wet tree.

The same tree.

And something in me d

didn’t know what to believe.

I turned away

and saw a light

through chapel glass nearby.

Something golden on the altar,

white held up inside.

I didn’t know what I was seeing.

Only knew I had to stare.

Then someone in the second pew turned slowly in his chair.

Same coat.

Same face.

Same man beneath the tree.

Only now he wasn’t shivering.

And he was looking back at me.

All my life I’d called it mine—

my work, my strength,

my name.

My family, my plans,

my scars, the things I fought to save.

But standing there still breathing,

I knew one thing was true:

I had been given something back I never gave myself to lose.

So I opened up the chapel door.

Didn’t know a prayer to say.

I just looked toward the altar and let everything fall away.

My work.

My will.

My fear.

My life.

Jesus…

Take it.