I was told that God wore white gloves slipped His finger down the contours of hard-to-reach shame checked for dirt behind the rib cage required spit-polished souls zero tolerance for mess I wanted to pass inspection I made my spirit an incurious loft spare quiet Each nervous, curated choice a vacuum static-free beyond challenge so pristine so stainless there were no fingerprints as if no one lived there Jesus walked in did not wipe His feet dirt and ash clung to him I was afraid white glove inspection and all this dirt He laughed Clapped His hands in streaming rays of sun Particles of dust glistened hung cradled in light that laid bare every speck I missed He smelled intoxicating fresh earth and charcoal tragedy and resurrection Live. he said There is dirt there is dust There is light. Beloved, I don't wear white gloves.
Yea I’ll be returning to this. It reminds me of my own journey, my growth in God. An initial relationship well intended but cloaked with fear and self condemnation. Until.
Yea I’ll be returning to this. It reminds me of my own journey, my growth in God. An initial relationship well intended but cloaked with fear and self condemnation. Until.
Until I really met Him. 😮💨
Brava Sharifa ! 🫶🏽💥👏🏽👏🏽
Wow .. beautiful
Beautiful ❤️
Potent truth! We are of the dirt and stars, the holy invitation to Be as we are. Beautiful poetry!!! Your voice is powerful.
I keep coming back to read this. Powerful. Thank you
You and the written word are soulmates.
Beautiful. I am so moved - held my breath at how good this is. Amen.
“Beloved, I don’t wear white gloves” 😭😭😭
Wow, this is really powerful! There were several lines that touched my heart deeply. Thank you
Wayment!!!???? Sharifa?!?!?! This slapppppps?!
holy smokes, i love this