Easter poem

Hi, everyone. This is a poem-prayer of thanksgiving that came to me
one sleepless night this week. This is a bit out of the ordinary for
me. Hopefully it's worth the reading time for you. It's called, "Our
brokenness is precious, then where are you?"

You knew us.

You became like us, hoping the same,
  from the smelly, slobbery, toddling beginning:
    "Whoever receives a child like this in my name receives me,"
  through the harsh canyon of uncomprehending, utterly hopeless despair:
    "My God, my own Father, why have you abandoned me?"
  to the ever-untimely ending.

Your broken body...breathed anew!
  so that hundreds would live, and die
  so that ten-thousands would live, and...

Your blood,
  the richest mixture of dirt and life,
  transfusing into the story of your bride,
  whose body knows
    the most fantastic, ridiculous redemptions, and
    the most filthy, gangrenous hypocrisies.

You know us.
Our story.
You're with us.
We're in it.
"It's not done."

Amen.