Some months ago, I was in a battle of wills with the Almighty. One Sunday in share time, a brother reflected on the ceremony of the awl and the pierced ear. He said, “That slave must have really trusted his master to be willing to stay with him the rest of his life.” I knew then it was mine to trust, not fight for my will to be done, and I went home and wrote this poem.

Then his master shall bring him to God, then he shall bring him to the door or the doorpost. And his master shall pierce his ear with an awl; and he shall serve him permanently. Exodus 21:6

He stands at my shoulder,

Awl in hand.

His eyes speak what His words

Have always said and what

I know is truer than true.

 

I voice my yes, so I can hear tomorrow

When my heart wanders:

“My Master, yes.

Yes to never owning but always having enough.

Yes to living under Your roof over Your furniture.

Yes.

Yes to safety You’ve proven these seven tenuous years.

Yes to plenty and to peace, to eating like a child at home.

Yes to Your care and not another’s, to a home not my own.

Yes.”

 

My eyes sweep over His turbaned head and out past tiled rooftops,

Mountain Hermon, the Jordan, and towns beyond.

But it’s here He invites me to stay and I say

Yes.

In His weathered doorway I lean

After the awl,

Hole held in His fingers that

Drip blood.