Received

A poem and reflection

---

earning is in our nature 
          work
     work 
work
             for a day's wage 
             it's what's fair and honest 

 but we cannot earn Your love  

it seems our labor for your love is always in vain 
for we are disappointing creatures 
at the very least 
and complete and utter wretches 
at the very most 

we are well-aware of our state 
so we work 
      work 
work 
            to earn you 
       to prove we are worth our salt 
to feast off the crumbs from your table 
(like the dogs we really are)

the truth is (I'm afraid) 
that the Your Love, sweet Christ, cannot be 
bought with our blood 
       earned by our sweat 
             lost by our failures 
                or kept by our triumphs

it can only be needed 
        and received 

and we need it 
oh, every hour we need it 

but how can we receive it? 

Only 
  You
     can 
        take my clenched fists 
            uncurl my white knuckles 
                and tell me You love me 
                      over and over again
                         until I believe You
                              
then your work in me will be done 
and your kingdom will have come.

---

Nothing resonates more with the human soul than the drive to earn. Even in an increasingly entitled society, there’s something innate in us that tells us we need to prove, earn, and strive for acceptance, love, and belonging. It’s a fight against a strong current to believe otherwise. This poem came out of me during a weekend of solitude when I heard Him say to me: “Just let me love you.” My response was simply: HOW?

The structure of this poem communicates a strange and complicated use of spacing. Our brains have to do some somersaults to read some of this poem because it’s going in a direction that is unnatural. The lines involving our own work and efforts move like stairsteps going up, and it’s exhausting to read.

In the midst of this exhaustive reading, truth occasionally interrupts this ridiculous striving in bold, blunt declarations placed straight in the middle of our efforts.

But we cannot earn Your love.

It {His Love} can only be needed and received.

And when the answer to my question how comes, the lines begin to move downwards — like gravity, like heaven-sent gift, like humility, His Love meets us here.

And the poem ends with the punctuated hope that His work in my heart will be done — and His work is the work of creating a kingdom where Love is given and received in a constant, unconditioned, selfless motion.

This vision isn’t idyllic or impossible — it’s a future promised to us who yield our hearts and minds to the triune God. And He’s persistent… so we might as well just loosen our grip and receive Him, yeah?