No.179: The Making of a Temple

If my body is a temple of the Most High God, 
then it must be a sin to leave it
cluttered,
empty, starved of care,
noisy,
quiet, absent of praise,
idle, in a box, stuck in comfort,
odd, awkward around man, perplexed, as if 
love has ever been complicated,
desolated by fornication,
dirty,
unrested,
undisciplined, 
neglected,
unsacred,
unbalanced,
unplugged,
undead, so 
vulnerable to damage,
I’ve been careless,
Lord help me manage these talents,
this frame, this name,
this Yahweh-engraved skin, 
it wants to be its own master,
like a clay pot posturing as a potter
like it was self-made,
I give you permission to end this disgrace,
free me from myself, 
I want to obey,
but this body seeks its own way,
my spirit is saved,
my mind is renewing everyday,
but this body has not received 
the memo.

They don’t tell you in Sunday School
the blood & sweat it takes
to chisel the flesh into a temple.

Cover Photo by Michael D Beckwith on Unsplash