The Gollum in me

I hoard my trinkets
Delighting in shredded wrapping paper
Ignoring the Gift
I am like Gollum
Obsessing and dying inside
Adoring perishable little trinkets
Cowering in the caves
As the saints march into battle
And the new earth approaches
I force worship out of myself unto my precious little ornaments
Thinking the louder I praise the more joy they will give me
But He is there
Watching me built my idol factory
Slipping and fumbling
Failing, bitter, discouraged
He is there
Unending, unchanging
The perfect Gift
The answer, the fit to the gap
The renewer, the healer, the Ultimate Person
Letting me taste and know life
Urging me, asking me to cling
To come wash and be made new again
Come be fixed, He urges
Fill your belly, warm your frosted, calloused hands that have grappled to built sand castles that have washed away with every wave
I am He
The One you’ve been trying to forge
I am here
And not there
Take your fill
There will be more
There will always be more


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