Change My Name
I'm restive again tonight, God.
So
I walk.
A fast walk.
Long, Confident, Powerful strides;
the emulation of Purpose and Importance, carrying me away
to nowhere.
Because I have no goal except to walk,
and I know where every street leads
in a ten kilometer radius.
My parents' fear binds me to that limit, not unreasonably so.
It's the northeast
and walking alone at night just isn't safe.
So
I remain.
My body encaged
in 30 minutes,
like the fire that always smolders but never consumes
me from the inside out.
I want my muscles to burn
like my emotions do.
I go looking for a fight
and You gave me one, once.
At least the cold wind cooled off my face,
if not this ever-present anger.
It was a good storm God,
but I wish You'd have sent rain.
I wanted to be soaked.
Cold showers just aren't the same.
But if they can't get relief
from Stanley Hall's Durmstrang and Durmstrong
then neither shall I.
Twisted metal
and mutilated shopping carts
stolen from the world's capitalistic retailers
lie in piles along every street
from Temple to Sunridge.
Proud Monuments
attesting to the raw passion of Youth,
and the lack of identity or direction thereof.
Do you ever feel like a moving target for an unseen enemy?
I didn't.
At least,
not until Dave suggested to me that
following God
leaves us with marks
So every son of the devil and his snake
can read your name and know EXACTLY who you are
in Christ.
Throw
Down
Your
Gauntlet.
'Cause them 2 Corinthians 10:3-6 is fightin' words.
Saul became Paul,
Sarai became Sarah,
Abram became Abraham,
Simon became Peter,
and when Jacob had a wrestling match with an angel and became Israel,
his hip was put out of joint.
So's mine.
But I don't know if I really
want to ask God for a name change.
Marilyn means “bitter,”
being a derivation of Mara, whom Naomi became
after drought and an alien land took her home,
husband,
and both of her sons.
But it's been in the family for three generations now and I hate
to break tradition.
Faye means “faith”
and it's the name I use
for all things practical.
Archer implies a soldier with more than one
good eye
to see a war clearly
and act on it with deadly precision.
Maybe this means
God won't change my name
until I get married.
Hope
at last.
Still,
Sindy became Bubba unofficially,
and I want to know:
what does that sign on my forehead say,
God?
It's a crop circle,
of course.
It says: “You are mine, all mine,
yes, you are. (muah, muah, muah, muah).”
