Open up the roof of this storm.
What would you see?
Would you see the steam rising off of my skin.
Rain drops that changed their mind
but it was too late to return unchanged.
Skin too hot for comfort.
Muscles taught as the string of a bow
with the arrow pointing inward.
Each of Your words rains on me a sweet cure to my self-made disease.
Hard-packed sin rising off of me like steam.
LORD I may avoid confrontation with Your storm
but I know with certainty that I will fall into you, broken.
Then you will stand me up, healed.