MIXING WITH DIRT

We started in a garden
The result of Majesty mixing with dirt
And, like magic, we had breath and bones and souls
The stuff of stars built into our DNA
And we walked with Him
And we talked with Him
And He told us we were Home

With a roof made of skies
Day and dusk and night and dawn 
And dew drenched roses every morning
In that garden without mourning
And we walked with Him
And we talked with Him
And He told us we were Home

We were bad at hiding, though
Ourselves and our secrets
Our red stained lips, sticky fingers
Our crimson cheeks, trembling demeanours
The smell of stolen fruit on the breaths He breathed into being

We walked away from Him
Forgetting who deserved the throne
When he grabbed our drooping shoulders
Drew our eyes to His and said,
"I am still your home." 

But we built roofs over our heads
With beams from trees and rocks and nails
Cement floors, doors with tiny peepholes
To see out, not be seen

We have gates, guards and alarms
And locks and keys and codes
And we call this home
Perhaps not what it was meant to be
When He said, "Make your home in me." 

Yes, chandeliers dripping with crystals are regal
The antique doors, marble floors on Pinterest we see
Then import from Italy
Turn our houses to cathedrals with locks 
So we're never altogether free

There's this certain type of lumbar, though
Sourced from Calvary
It gets rave reviews from builders
At first costly, but now free
The wood's not much to look at

It's from a peasant's tree
In fact, it's stained in scarlet 
And bears holes from hammering
But it withstands every element
Makes homes fit for Kings
And maybe what He means when He says, 
"Make your home with me." 

We started in a garden, yes
The result of Majesty mixing with dirt
And we can still walk with Him
And we can still talk with Him
And He is still our Home