Jesus, it’d be better were you here, laying hands that we could see with our eyes or feel on our skin to heal us, to wake up the dead,
to hear your voice say talitha koum!
I know how he felt now, that poor man running through the streets without dignity to beg you fix his broken little girl. God, to feel you near in voice and breath.
That sort of peace, the final sort of knowing—we can taste it now but we can’t swallow.
This must be how John felt when he said “Come, Lord Jesus.” He just wanted that feeling of seeing you handle impossible, that reassurance. So I guess
I’m fine with this—the wanting You,
like John. Come, Lord Jesus.