What would I not give over to you?
My shames, embarrassments, indiscretions,
secrets, fears, fantasies,
thinking you would scorn, mock, judge, ridicule,
and cast me off?
What would I not give over to you?
My gifts, successes, triumphs
well-tended gardens of my life,
suspecting you could do nothing to improve my competencies?
What would I not give over to you?
My dilemmas, decisions, challenges,
opportunities, wounds,
deciding that they were mine alone
to handle, deal with, master?
What would I not give over to you,
My precious love, my yearnings, loved ones,
would-be loved ones, wisdoms?
Assuming you had all those in multitudes
and no need for mine?
O Beloved,
There is nothing I have,
nothing I am,
nothing I have regretted, exulted, studied,
obsessed about, cherished,
denied, treasured, or prided
that I would not want purified, transfigured,
directed by you.
Take them all, Lord.
Let them all once more be glorified,
— and me.
from “Whitwoman” Poems © Connie Marie Stomper 1998
