Saturday, March 26, 2016

Sunday's coming.

Sunday's coming; Anticipation's rest.
Sunday: wherein the very bests will be upon us,
cause our heart's rust to be made new.

I used to imagine the storm was calmed with ease;
what a smooth surface, what a nice picture. Then a whisper came.
There is no surface healing; all healing is soul deep.
Jesus doesn't hand out band-aids, does he?
That body of water was not merely made straight so he could walk,
no: from the storm which caused its thrashing, it was freed.
The water was calmed

not just on the surface, but in the deep.
In that light I thought of my life as that very same sea; how in my feeble
boat where from I cast my desperate attempts, through wind and waves,
I beg the Lord to come here, calm me, walk through my life
as though my life were sea, and storms are raging.

Sunday's coming,
and in bliss, like sun after sleep, we'll know:
past surface, down into the deep, He's healed us.





2 comments:

Colleen Taylor McCubbin said...

This is so refreshing for my soul in myriad ways. Thank you.

afterthoughtcomposer said...

Thank you, Colleen. I'm thankful these words, meant for good, have been so. xo.