I desperately want to see my wounds.
I want to lay in front of God, as gently as one leaf lays in a pile of a thousand leaves. I want to feel like God is sitting on my bed with me as we listen to Sigur Ros and he is looking at me with a crooked smile, because He is proud of me but also simultaneously pissed at me for being so naive. I want to see God as the orchestrator of my problems. He is the balancer of my sin and my purity, putting things in their rightful, named places.
I want to worship God as though something really bittersweet just happened, with a tear of joy rolling down my cheek. Such as, when you attend a funeral and find that most of the prayer is not sad but happy because everyone is in agreement that this person was taken from Earth to worship God in Heaven.
I want to worship God and thank Him, just as my grandfather, William Wemyss (my mom's dad who died a couple years ago), does as he sits in front of God, alongside Ronald Reagan and my dad's dad (Glenn Rucker) and 14 billion other worshippers, as they kneel on a golden road, throwing flowers at God's feet and chanting, "Holy is Your Name!"