Cracked and dry, broken and weary. Ready to receive.
Like the first few drops of rain falling on parched land, words from another who sees Your Face and knows Your Love and walks in Your Daily Grace, seep into my spirit. Drops disappearing from the surface almost as fast as they fall, but going to work deep within.
Where seeds of hidden truth lie in wait, and hope shriveled into dormant slumber dreams of what used to be. Where echos of a life of laughter and all things possible once existed, now lie the leftovers of what happens when more wind blows than water falls.
I was once called by a name. I was once told of a great and mighty gift I was formed to posses. I once reached timid hand outstretched to receive and be blessed.
Then my surroundings changed as my footsteps directed in a different path. And words from disheartened and soul-hungry, beat down and oppressed, who scoffed at things felt, and upheld things thought as best, words that pierced my heart, shook my faith and caught me at the knee.
And when you forget how to find that falling water, to refresh and refill, those words can kill the life right out of things tender and growing within.
But You never left me to completely wither. You sustained me in the innermost places. And calling to me, You pursue me as relentlessly as the sun rises each morning. You have sent rain. A trickle and a taste of what is yet to come.
“For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.”