It started out as beautiful...
A sprig of ivy,
a secret dream, a wishful yearning.
An opening window,
seeming as of no consequence.
Slowly,
inch by inch,
creeping, crawling,
coiling.
A sprig of ivy becomes a ruined house.
A living tree turns
into a rotten corpse.
A longing turns into a consuming hunger.
Voracious. Obsessive.
Blocking out the light.
It started as small.
A tuft of lichen, pale and textured.
A niggle of worry
rooting in the heart.
Mighty in muted smallness,
clinging and tenacious.
It spreads, reaches, stretches.
Suffocates.
Quiet as moss,
silent as snow.
A tree is covered to leaf no more.
A fence is coated, falling apart.
A tiny concern
morphs into fretful distress,
overtaking reason and hope.
But for Christ, this would be me.
A ruined house,
a dead tree.
An unfruitful life.
Untangling the lies one by one,
snipping, pruning,
uncovering.
Closing windows against the chill of faithlessness.
All the while blanketing me with His sacrifice.
Opening my eyes to see the snarls and tentacles
I've allowed to creep in.
Bringing to light
His faithfulness,
His tenderness.
Watchful and ready.
Guarding His own.