Born under a cloud of never-meant-to-be,
Surrounded by elephants and leeches,
It doesn't take me long to reject
The God of the Plan.
Some are warmed by this God.
To me, that God is cold comfort,
Like worshipping an unlit yule log.
Searching for order in the Mystery,
I embrace the God of the Choice.
I flirt with Pelagius,
and throw my lot in with Arminius.
I embrace the God of the Process,
This messy, dynamic, frightening Being,
Who is willing to wrestle with me,
Down in the dust like two small boys,
Like he wrestled with my forefather Jacob.
This is what warms me: this Opponent-Friend of mine.
I taste the salt of his sweat.
I feel his hot breath on my neck.
I hear his calls for my surrender.
We are locked forever in each others' grasp,
and there is no letting go.
It is the struggler who reaches Peniel.
