this is what You do

I've felt them.

The cold hands, feeling around, intertwining with mine.
Reaching around + grabbing hold of my mind, my body, my heart.

Seven years ago, I felt them first. They felt natural, like they had always been there, as though I merely hadn't noticed them there before.

I ran into many arms, trying to prove those hands wrong.
I lost parts of myself I could never get back.
I cried.
I bled.

It was never enough.
The cold hands never loosened their grip.

It took a long time before I ran into the right arms.
Arms that shook those hands away + made me come alive.

Full of shame, guilt + rottenness, I fled from the cold hands + into warmth, into arms offering honour, freedom + new life.

When I bled to try and save myself, I was telling Jesus His blood was not enough to cover me.

The problem was my blood was no good

This is what You do.