Tears wrung out from this dry and thirsty soul. Memories of the less mundane breed longing for more of His greatness.
While soul sulks, truth speaks still. Pages crisp lined with words ancient. He is faithful.
The mire of my everyday coexists with the faithfulness of my God. In a fleeting moment of beholding Him, the barrier begins to crumble and the two seep into each other. My messy and my God, like oil and water, seemingly incompatible. Until I behold Him a little more. And then a little more.
Two are steadily but oh-so-slowly becoming one and the ground is fertile with possibilities. Hope sprouts, joy germinates, peace pokes a hesitant tendril from mucky mire.
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