Boxing Gloves

I am a soul
I am not a story untold
I am a creation, breathing in the fire of my Creator
With eyes open wide at my Maker
I am not my anxieties or a hopeless reality or a spiritual sobriety
I am present in His presence wrapped with a silver bow and the excitement of Christmas morning

I have never worn boxing gloves
But I could probably be a professional fighter
My Daddy would tell you that I rarely think before I speak
And my Mama would say that I am defensive far more than I am decisive
That I argue about things in my sleep with no one but myself
That I've always walked around singing and I've always walked on my toes
Probably as a way to make myself appear louder and bigger than I really am

I may not be a wrestler but my heart will never be done wrestling
I am restless and I am running and I am consistently being ruined
By the One who makes it worth the fight
I am not filled with the tally marks of my mistakes because He doesn't keep score
In Him I've already lost and gained
Made whole again

I have a constant fear of keeping my eyes closed too long when I blink
Because I never want to miss out on seeing the goodness of this world
I'm convinced that true faith is found more often in kindergarten classrooms than theological discussions
That sometimes I hold onto my past as an excuse to procrastinate moving into my future
But sometimes, the gloves come off and all I can do is live in love
I stop fighting and singing and standing on my toes
And learn to dwell in the mystery of impossible hopes