Abba

Abba —

A title I began to understand about a year ago.

A title that reminds me of the tender Heavenly Fatherhood

Of the First Person of the Trinity.

That word, satiated with power,

Is a prayer in and of itself;

A silent whisper late at night as I lay in bed,

Unsure of what else to say…

A cry of joy as I lift my hands in praise,

Encapsulating the desires of my heart…

A plea for help as tears roll down my cheeks,

Cascading to the floor while I fall apart.

Abba —

The title spoken by Jesus in every circumstance,

The invocation of the Father,

The humble acceptance of His Will.

A binding of the soul to God,

A submission of one’s desires,

A reception of love and grace.

I write it at the top of every journal entry,

My pen forming each letter in cursive,

Each movement an invitation to my God

To engage in conversation with me,

A reassurance that he is never silent.

Abba —

The cry of our Lord in the Garden,

As His Passion lay before Him,

Sweat turning to blood as it lingered on His skin.

While His eyes were closed shut in prayer,

Fists undoubtedly clenched together

To mask the agony,

The Father sent His Angels

To unclasp His Son’s hands,

To open them to receive the eternal love

Which would send Him to the Cross

But would allow us to in turn

Join in the same cry to the Father

To embrace Him as ours,

Never to be separated again.