This week we continue the Lent theme with a spiritual desert poem, an experience that most of us face at some point in our lives. My hope is that this poem will give voice to that experience while also speaking hope into it at the same time.
(This poem will not display correctly on a phone, at least not in portrait mode. Try it in landscape or view it on a computer.)
I have
sung
over
you
since
you
were
in the
womb.
I am
nearer
than
your
breath.
I am
closer
than
your
soul.
I know
your
heart is
wounded
and no
longer
hears
my
song.
So
I will
send
my
living
water—
quietly,
gently,
slowly—
to wake
your
thirsty
bones.
A trickling breaks upon
my parched soul.
I stir.
Where am I?
What am I doing here?
How long have I wandered this barren land,
chasing echoes
of my own voice
and false whispers
in the hollows of my soul?
How long have I sought solitude to numb my loneliness?
Darkness to hide my fears?
I have no memory of the journey.
But one thing I do know:
I must follow the trickle,
setting aside the echoes
and the whispers,
until at last I find
the once-familiar stream
where I know
You wait for me still.
I am slow
to follow the sound,
meandering along the way
in my doubts and fears.
But my will grows with the sound
and I know that in time
I will come to You again.
Your voice will be a rush of water
to my soul.
Your face the balm
to my loneliness.
Your presence peace
to my fears.
Until then,
wait for me.
Lovely!
Thanks, Anna!