Time after I came to your gate with raised hands asking for more yet more. You gave and gave, now in slow measure, now in sudden excess. I took some, and some things I let drop; some lay heavy on my hands; some I made into playthings and broke them when tired; till the wrecks and hoard of gifts grew immense, hiding You, and the ceaseless expectations wore my heart out.
Take, O take, has now become my cry. Shatter all from the beggar's bowl. Put out this lamp of the importunate watcher; hold my hands, raise me from the still-gathering heap of your gifts into the bare infinity of your uncrowded presence.
Our first home was in the womb of our earthly mother, but the womb of God is our "forever" home. It is a place in which we can live both now and forever--an "at home" place of rest. In the womb of God we can both be and be born, over and over again--constantly birthed into new being: new hope, renewed faith, and forgiving love.
