I come to You still

I come to You still                                                                                          
 
Ask for nothing You say and ashamedly,
after all these years, I come to You still,
 
out of suffering and fear, my Lord,
with a brazen request –
 
let me know that Saint Francis moment
when with one quaking embrace,
 
the leper becomes the Christ –
shame becomes triumph, fear becomes love.
 
Let the falsity who is me, through Your fire,
turn to dust rather than suffer the usual putridity.
 
I commit the sin of hope (I know),
wishing relief from Your onslaught
 
not by abeyance, Lord, but by
the ultimate culmination of Your task.

O child of God, your words reveal a lack of faith. 
Love doesn’t ask, Meher said.  Love doesn’t ask.