They thought I was being broken
but I was being kindled.
Each loss,
each surrender,
each yes in the dark
was wood laid upon me
by the hands of Mercy.
I asked God for a flame…
He made me the altar.
He didn’t need my performance
He needed a place to rest.
And so, I let the fire come.
I let it burn what I clung to.
I let it find what was hidden.
Now I do not carry the flame
I am the altar
where it dwells.
—Joe Restman