August 16, 2011
did you know that the trees whisper to each
other in the dead of night when no one is
there to listen? and that the rivers have
souls that flow with them, singing underwater
songs about redemption and grace? did you
know that I am only a scratch mark on
I am not a tree or a river, living
and thriving. I am not a mountain that’s
been moved by faith, or an ocean roaring
at its mighty Creator. I am not from the
tree of life, eating olives and bread with
wine under the sunny presence of the Lord.
but I am a spectral, a sketch, an echo
in the air calling out for help, calling out
for a Savior, calling out for mercy, for grace.
begging to be a tree, begging to be a river,
begging to cry out with the rocks and the
plants. I am starving for a portion of
bread and wine, but all I see is desert
around me, consuming me, filling me with
nothing — but I believe, I believe so why
am I this sketch, this echo, this spectral
figure roaming around the desert?
bring me up from this wilderness.

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