A Collection of Prayerful Poems by Tim McGee
Thomas touched the wounds
and found eternity.
The hands that shaped the stars
were open before him.
The pierced side
became a doorway
into love.
And he whispered,
My Lord.
My God.
Not merely the Lord.
Not merely God.
My.
The crucified
The resurrected
The infinite
had come near enough
to touch.
And now I kneel
before the hidden Christ,
asking for the faith
to see what Thomas saw:
beneath the veil,
within the wound,
beyond what my eyes can hold,
You are here.
My Lord.
My God.
Your confession in this poem isn’t sentimental; it’s seismic. He doesn’t just acknowledge divinity—he claims it. My Lord. My God. You capture that moment when doubt collapses under the weight of presence, when wounds become revelation, when the infinite becomes touchable. It’s a reminder that faith isn’t abstract assent but a personal surrender to the One who steps close enough to be encountered.
Your poem leans into that same longing: to kneel before the hidden Messiah and ask for eyes that see beyond surface, beyond circumstance, beyond what our senses can hold. It’s a prayer for revelation—one that refuses to settle for secondhand faith. In a world full of noise, this is the kind of quiet that awakens allegiance.
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I love the artist drawing. So simple yet intricate. Our Faith in our Father has to be so personal. ✝️
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