What I Thought I Needed

Only You

I used to think I needed someone like her.

Someone who understood me,

who offered what felt like peace,

whose words could soften the waves inside.

But I see now.

I was longing for You.

Not someone who calmed the storm,

but the One who commands the waves.

Not one who made silence feel safe,

but the One who makes it sacred.

You Called Me Higher

You opened my eyes to see again,

to see how I tried to fill a throne with a touch,

how I crowned a feeling and called it god,

how I mistook connection for covenant,

and tenderness for truth.

How I thought I needed comfort,

But You were calling me to holiness.

The One Who Stayed

I held fast to the vows we once shared.

I wept for what was sacred yet slipping.

I needed her to choose us.

But she stepped away.

You stayed.

You never left me.

You walked with me.

You still stay.

You loved me before I knew I needed saving.

You bore not just my pain but my sin.

You didn’t just comfort me.

You atoned.

You redeemed.

You, Lord, are the Consuming Fire,

burning what was never holy.

Refining what You make new.

Where I Fell Short

What we had wasn’t perfect.

But I fought for it.

It was sacred.

Entrusted to me,

for a season only You could number.

I see now where I fell short too.

I idolized the gift more than the Giver.

I gave effort where intimacy had faded.

I held to hope even when truth trembled,

thinking covenant could cover the cracks.

I loved deeply.

Yet she let go.

Still, You never let go.

You are the refuge who never does.

What You’re Making New

You don’t just convince me I’m enough.

You make me Yours.

Chosen.

Redeemed.

Beloved.

Her imprint fades.

Yours remain.

You showed me Your wounds,

the scars and stripes that healed me.

It wasn’t wasted.

Even broken vessels carried meaning.

Even in her leaving,

You were forming something new in me.

If You Would Send Someone

So I no longer long for echoes of the past,

not reminders,

not replacements.

If You would send someone,

let her not be an echo of my wounds,

but a partner in Your purpose.

Let her not soothe what You mean to sanctify,

nor fix what You intend to remake.

Let her not come as just warmth,

but a flame forged in surrender,

burning together for You.

If she comes,

may she find me bowed,

not needing her as Savior,

but walking already

with You as Lord.

Not one who completes me,

but one who joins me

in being made complete in You.

Not to Replace You, But Reflect You

An Ezer,

not to replace You,

but to reflect You.

A Kenegdo,

not above, not beneath,

but face to face.

Strong where I am weak,

and yielded in love, as I am too.

Bone of my bone.

Flesh of my flesh.

And if she stands beside me,

may we not reach backward for Eden,

but long together for the New Jerusalem.

Until Then, I Burn

I used to think I needed someone.

Now I sow with tears and wait in the already but not yet.

Not idle,

not empty,

but burning,

with oil in my lamp,

and fire in my bones.

Still healing.

Still held.

Still holy.

Prepared.

Purified.

Poured out.

For You.

No more idols.

No more broken cisterns.

Only Living Water.

Only You.

Selah.

Prayer For Rain

I ache for the downpour of heavy rain,

Will You grow a harvest from these tears?

I pray for an olive tree,

to take root in my sea of sorrow.

Yoked in purpose,

to share the good news,

with the breath You've allotted for the time here,

for tomorrow is never guaranteed.

Selah.