The Epistles

My heart is closed all week,

Dark, hard, unable to receive or give love,

My heart boasts all week, 

Proud, loud, basking in unending self-given praise.

But come Sunday, a transformation takes place, 

As I enter the church, and behold Christ’s face 

I shed my armour and let my guard down, 

The love of the divine starts to surround. 

A light shines down on me from above, 

And fills my heart with Christ’s endless love,

I’m surrounded by the Timothy Generation, a people so kind,

In their embrace, His presence I do find. 

On this day alone, my heart is open,

My soul set free, and my spirit awoken, 

I let His love in, and somehow it grows,

Lost in His presence, my fears are exposed. 

So I’ll be here every Sunday, week after week,

To feel His love, His peace, His presence so sweet,

For in this place, it’s almost guaranteed,

That I’ll become the person, He wants me to be.