Another day passes, and still we’re without
Time tocking, spilling down anthills counted as mountains
Our hearts racing, waiting franticly in one place
And a steady, small voice speaks through the sabbath – be still.
My frustrated response, “we have no choice!”
Beating my chest, while resting my head on his, knowing this is
Where we belong. and he is right. He. Is. Right.
I try to bargain, telling Him of her need, as if His heart can break harder
As if He has tears that aren’t already falling, as if He can’t hear her calling
As if He might be stalling, but because of my small voice He suddenly sees the orphan.
And the moments are morphing.
I realize it’s He.
He who’s been beating his chest, pointing out his tears, for so many years
Wanting us to see, wanting us to hear, inviting us to come near, to let go of fear, and see it all clear
The least of these, that should have brought us to our knees, years ago.
But He doesn’t say “I told you so.”
His smile is filled with grace-ladened Love, glad we’ve arrived to the party
I follow His analogy through the door, again with selfish motives,
“Exactly”, I say, “And we want to bring her to the feasting table with us.”
As He brings me near, He whispers in my ear, sealing my bleeding heart with Truth that sears…
“Not as bad as I do…”
words from wick 