He Knows My Heart
They say, “Don’t ask,”
as if my questions wound Him—
as if the Infinite cannot bear
my finite, trembling why.
But He walks with me
in the garden of my wondering,
where each question blooms
like a wildflower in morning light.
I do not fear His silence,
nor the thunder of His voice—
for whether He answers,
or only holds my gaze,
He knows my heart.
When I ask of Eden,
of evil, of pain—
when I wonder if love
was ever enough—
He does not flinch.
He shaped my seeking.
He taught me to long.
And even in doubt,
He knows my heart.
Not all fires are rebellion.
Some flames refine.
And if I carry kindling,
it is only to see
the face of I Am more clearly.
So let them accuse me
of stepping past the line—
but He walks beside me still,
unafraid of my questions.
He knows.
And that is enough.