“Every sin is vertical …”  Paul David Tripp

 

To sin, I can RE-LATE

Born rebel that I am.

 

Like Eve – I twist

what from Primary Source

I have received

Twist the words; The Word.

Twist the knife in God’s own back.

Twist the wrist that draws the needle

threaded with blackest cord through

every fig leaf I can scrounge.

 

Like Eve – I look

at snakes that talk

and sacred trees fruit-laden.

Look with eyes oh so unwise.

Look and swell desire unchecked.

Look! I should have known better.

I did know better and ignored

the better, the best.

 

Like Eve – I think

with a single cell – human cognition

the goddess of all folly

Think I know my own needs.

Think God is not so good.

Think the talking snake

makes perfect sense

because it’s just a piece of fruit.

 

Like Eve – I reach

shoulder connected to the arm bone;

arm bone connected to the heart, really.

Reach beyond intention.

Reach into transgression.

Reach and stretch the

connected-to-heart muscles

that break my Maker’s heart.

 

Like Eve – I bite

The juice runs down my chin,

the drip a groaning creation deluge.

Bite through skin.

Bite into flesh.

Bite and roll out the welcome

for eternal decay because

sin brings death.

 

Like Eve – I share

because misery loves company

and miserable I am.

Share the “Just this once.”

Share the “No one will know.”

Share the consuming shame

that buds and flowers

with every single remembrance.

 

Yes.

 

To sin, I can RE-LATE

born rebel that I am

 

Which makes redemption

a hard sweetness.

From my beginning, doing death.

Living, yet dying.

And then – the draw.

The cords of blood that dressed again

RE-DRESSED

the twisted seen,

thought, reached, bitten,

shared wound.

 

My scars, His.

His robes, mine.

 

Sometimes, it’s a mystery to RE-LATE

this mercy, this grace.

Not too late.

Because of Him, to Him,

I can RE-LATE.