Abigail Nottingham - Sachse

MAN OF GOD


I sit here, pen in hand, and I can't seem to put words on the paper. 
It's pitiful really. 
I mean you woke up, 2 am or 1 am, pushed yourself out of bed with cracking knuckles and provided provision and love. 
How could I be such a narcissist. 
How could I be so full of self pity that I don't even recognize the desolation, caused by the trials laid upon you. 
You,
Born of the tribulations of a teenage pregnancy, 1978. 
Hands and feet bound by the umbilical chord of your predetermined kismet.
Planned by God, who loved you so radically, he gave his only son to die for your sins. 
Whose brain and flesh could hardly decipher the difference between right and wrong. 
Whose legs trembled as they stood for the first time,
But whose soul had already knelt. 
You,
Raised in a Pentecostal church,
A preachers kid. 
Who was taught Gods love in adolescence. 
Whose soul strengthened everyday,
Seeming to be unbreakable, just like the broad smile that never fell from your face, 
That always reached your eyes,
Never forced,
Never fake, 
Always bright,
You,
A soldier,
Egypt, Syria, England
Who, though a witness to the cruelest forms of evil,
Held that genuine smile. 
Who paraded through smug-faced crowds that held kindling eyes,
And was able to stand tall. 
Though they would never know the prison that hid within the folds of your pockets, 
That held every insecurity and every dark memory you would ever posses. 
You,
Who views disloyalty and lies as gargantuan-gut galling Goliaths
And faced them with five stones,
Love, humility, forgiveness, compassion, and faith. 
You placed that Faith in a slingshot and slung it right at the head of the giants and left victorious. 
You,
Abandoned by family. 
The same the family that promised you reinforcement
but instead provided you with 20 foot hurdles, blazing with serpent lies about who you were as a person, who your family was, and what your walk looked like. 
Who refused to allow your daughter to look upon the hurt formed into tears that leaked onto your cheeks,
The same cheeks that she used to kiss with delicate lips but whose lips had now touched another's in the most impure ways. 
Ways in which you would never hope for. 
You,
Whose lover, 
Life,
Mother of your children,
had been a victim to the black smokey hands of disease. 
That had clutched onto her like a master, she was his slave. 
A slave to illness. 
And you stood idly behind, chained by the same illness.
Though it never touched you physically,
It had captured your hands and bound them to helplessness. 
But YOU,
You knew,
You always knew,
That God loves you. 
You always looked to God,
Whether you were running
Walking,
Standing,
Crawling- scraping your knees as you screamed Jesus. 
You always knew Jesus. 
You always come back to Jesus. 
You know his love. 
You know him. 
He wraps his arms around you like a father does to his son, come home from war. 
He is the battle paint you wear, red dripping down your forehead and into you heart where
He binds himself to you like an irreversible chemical equation. 
And you know this. 
You live this. 
I've never seen someone so strong,
So brave,
So loyal,
So loving
So compassionate,
And so Christ-like. 
And though your past may compare to seven-headed dragons your future holds nothing but promise.
For the plans God has for you are not to destroy you but to bring prosperity. 
You are the strongest man I will ever know and will always be a motivation and a role model to me. 
I am filled with regret of my actions and thoughts that once filled me. 
Now I know
You,
Man of God. 
And I am so proud to call you,
Father. 

Jason Carney