Sunday morning

I wrote this two Sunday mornings ago, 'upon singing a favourite hymn' and 'whereupon I should have been listening to the preacher but was remembering another sermon I heard a year ago and writing a poem about my sin.'

Sunday Morning

David just danced,

But I became aware of my Michal too soon.

So praise him that the stones cry out

When a living heart becomes one.

Look at me I love to praise:

On another day I am sounding my trumpet before me.

Praise him that I’ve been made alive

Even though I’m acting like a coffin full of bones.

So loosen my tongue and give it a job,

Make me want one thousand opportunities to say

That your blood breaks the power of sin;

The power of Michals and trumpets.

Pretty sure this doesn't count as poetry, but just thought I'd throw it up here in the interest of giving attention to my forlorn blog.

Oh, and here's the sermon that kind of stuck with me. I had never heard the 'David dancing' story applied this way. Basic gist of the sermon: David was so thankful that he got to return the ark that he didn't care who saw how excited he was.