When I Forget, He Still Remembers

There are days my hands tremble to write, but my soul finds no rest until my heart is poured out...

    

   I basked in the shield of His grace,

Unaware of the reason behind the race.

Always caught—

Kneeling,

Folded hands,

Whispering a plea for a miracle.

How easy it is to forget.

How often I do.

When things are smooth, I drift.

When storms rage, I sprint back—

Worn knees, wet eyes,

Begging for what I once held loosely.

And yet…

He meets me still.

Not with scorn,

But with open arms

And mercy that remembers what I forget.

I was constantly enveloped in His arms,

Like a baby, He carries me carefully.

I have reminisced on every second from my before,

But He did not find a foul in me.

He beautified me with a soul.

He erased all wrongs, and in His eyes, I am always His own.

As I kneel here, my mind is a daily courtroom,

Where I am the judge, passing verdicts

On how hurt my Chi (My God) has been.

But an ungrateful soul has learnt to be grateful.

I am here, with a promise of forever holding on to You, Obinigwe (The mighty One who resides in heaven).

     If these words stirred something in you, know that you’re not alone. “Letters from the Kneeling Place” is a series I’m starting—personal reflections from my quiet, messy, and sacred moments with God.

I hope you find pieces of your own story in mine.

    

    ©HerMixedMuse