Loving him was never quite right. I could list the cliches: I spoke and he didn't listen. I showed up and he abandoned. I could cry the bitter tears of a servant with no master. But the details do not matter. He was never mine to love. Placed on a cross I'm not sure he signed up for. A cross he didn't deserve. I guess we both did our best. Him to be my god and me to be his sheep. When I lost him, I prayed my last prayer. I prayed for you. For someone I could truly worship. Someone to give all of my praise and devotion, ironically blind with all faith.
I'm okay admitting it, even if You don't agree. Your feet will be my alter, Your body, the body of christ, Your blood, his blood. You will be my God. I'll proclaim Your name like I once proclaimed his. To me it is the same. To me You mean more. Worshiping You is the purest devotion I can give. It comes without doubt, without fear. It comes with a God I believe in. I'm okay admitting it, even if You don't agree. I take joy in my sacrilege as I worship at Your feet.
Maybe You're a vessel as some would claim. Maybe the love I hear in Your voice is his way of calling me back, keeping me through You. I won't argue if that's true. It won't change my actions, it won't redirect my following. For me, there is only You.
I won't ask for a cross, this servitude does not require You to lay down Your life. I will lay down my own. I will pick up my splintered cross and follow You. Wherever You go, I will be there, even if You lead me back to him.
My hands will lift to You, my heart will fill with praise. My lips will declare Your name and the world will know Your glory. You will be my God, even if You don't agree. I take joy in my sacrilege as I worship at Your feet.
