If writing is holy ground,
come walk with me 
through the fodder of your imagination. 

Come bear with me 
through the pins and needles 
that dig in to your sleeping confidence. 

Come smile at me 
even if your resolve is dissolving into pieces, 
even while the joy in your eyes melts 
and slides down your face, 
slipping like chocolate  
on a summer's day.

Come join me 
when it feels like your insides are churning, 
like a game of musical chairs for your organs, 
jostling and shoving to get into place. 

Even with your heart at your feet 
and your guts in your hands, 
come to me then. 

If what we are doing is holy, 
even through your human 
doubts 
fears  
anxieties 

come worship at my feet.