“Bare Hands in the Mud of My Own Desire”

 With bare hands in the mud of my own desire,

I dug through the ashes of ego’s fire.

Thought the burn was living but it left me cold,

A slave to a hunger that never grows old.

I clawed at the dirt thinking freedom was near,

But the mud was my mirror and the truth was clear:

Every craving I chased just tightened the chain,

Till the heart cried mercy from the weight of the pain.

So I fell in that mud, face first in the lie,

And the filth in my mouth made the soul want to die.

But the Creator leaned close through the stench and the grime,

Saying, “Boy, this is love — it’s correction through time.”

Now I rise from that pit dripping shame, dripping truth,

But the mud became holy in the hands of my youth.

For desire ain’t evil, it’s the field I repair—

Bare hands in the mud… till Your light enters there.