Jacob I am (For Grandpa John)

Part 1: Grabs the Heel

In the morning when I rise and raise my head off the rock,

I’ll remember that Jacob I am,

and though my grandpa visited with the Son of God in his tent

I saw 100,000 angels walking the ladder until the sun rose wide over the land.

And for all the messes I’ve made, with my brother’s clothes slipped over my head,

maybe there is more than evil on this earth.

Maybe the stars should not make me feel so alone,

but make me rise in the morning knowing I am one of my grandpa’s own.

Oh Abraham, I am haughty.

I fear you would hang your head low if you saw the deceitful man I am.

Like you and Grandma, I have laughed at God.

Like Adam, I walked away from God,

and then I ran.

Part 2: Names

I once was set wandering and was not found.

I was blind but now it is a ladder ascending into the heavens that I’ve seen.

I was lame until I AM wrestled with me.

And I want to ask how I can live up to my grandpa’s name

when my own name is so understandable and fitting,

and it doesn’t seem it would be me seeing angels on stairs when I’m dreaming,

especially as I sweat here in the dirt with one whose name is beyond understanding.

But Abraham believed.

So like my grandpa before me I will hold on,

and I will not let go.

Part 3: The Garden

Can you dream dreams of cherubim on stairs?

Can you steal your brother’s inheritance right from your father’s lips?

Can you run panicked into the wilderness?

Can you throw your life away?

My life whirls in light around me and I don’t understand anything at all. 

Esau, Esau,

             in my dreams I pretend Isaac knew all along it was me who came with goat skin.

I imagine what it would be like to carry no sin.

We are not so far from Eden,

but Esau, we have seen death and regret.

I wish I had taken the ladder on its wild path. 

Esau, I wish I had never invoked your wrath.

In the morning when I rise, I feel so lost,

             knowing my grandpa was a mighty man,

             with a grandson who acts the snake.

And although God tells me I’m bound to start something that will not end,

            I stumble as I consider Abraham,

how we buried him before he could see my children.

My grandpa with his eyes wide open, and a brain that would not stop,

            Jacob I am and my life does not match up.

Yet for all I’ve done to shake the dirt of my family off my feet,

            I find myself wishing for all the dust, for everything,

            to forever cling to me,

            just to feed my father stew,

            just to walk into my grandpa’s tent,                                                                                                             to see him sitting there,

            just wanting so badly for him to be in that chair.

My heart feels dark for the mistakes I’ve made.

If only a thousand angels could form a dome over me                                                                                             and I would bathe in light while my body decayed.

I will not stay still,

I will not stop,

            until I find the angel ladder again and take it to the top.

When I find Esau I will make amends,

            I will start again,

            grow a garden like Abraham,

            and make all things new,

            watching things grow,

            as the world grows in light around me,

            as I pant here in the dirt with the Son of Man,

            as love grows,

            like you Abraham,

            like you Grandpa,

            just like you.