For those who feel
forgotten—
those who find themselves
wedged in the cleft
scarcely drawing breath
While the wind whirls
and the earth quakes
and the fire consumes
Hidden in the belly of the rock
insulated from His gentle whisper
For those who were born
with wings
only to feel the hallowing injustice
of being clipped
too soon
and now you wait
while hope erodes
slowly settling
in oceans deep
To those who wait still—
be still and know
you’re in good company
Feel your ache
In Sarah’s womb
Picture your bleakness
in Niaomi’s losses
Bear your shame
in Mary’s news
Writhe in the finality
of Dorcus’s death
Cling with desperation
like the woman who bled
to His robe
You are not alone.
The circumstance
that caught you
now tangled up amidst the rocks
is temporary—
albeit more like icy hoarfrost
than morning mist
Even so
one day
not too far from now
the Good Shepherd promises
to come
and pluck you from that
stubborn hold
Then tucked beneath
His steady arm
you’ll finally loose that sigh
(the one you held inside so long
you almost burst)
And oh—
sweet glorious thought—
that first deep breath into
spacious lungs
will be to you
holy ecstasy
In that moment you will know
the waiting
however endless
monotonous
gruelling
will have made it conceivable
at last
to spend your forever
worshipping the One
who set you free.
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