How can I give you up, my beloved?
How can I hand you over, O Israel?
My heart recoils within me;
my compassion grows warm and tender.
I will not execute my fierce anger;
I will not destroy you;
for I am God and no mortal,
the Holy One in your midst,
and I will not come in wrath.
I am not your enemy.
I am for you, not against.
I am not like your anger,
I am not your fear.
I am your joy, your peace.
I am your breathing, your heartbeat,
your blood, your Being.
I am the fullness of you,
unfolding as you let me.
I have only blessing for you,
like a mother for her newborn.
I am your perfection, longing for you.
My judgment is not harsh, but pure mercy,
my seeing your brilliance folded in the bud,
my knowledge of your beauty waiting in you.
I do not judge your doubts
but give you strength to tear them open
and find in them the mirror of your grace.
I know your childish fears,
your helpless lashing out,
I have seen the rage seeping into you.
My wrath burns not against you but that lie.
I will hold you until you quiet in my arms.
You are angry because you are afraid
that I am not here for you
but I am here
Be still, and let me hold you.
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