GOOD FRIDAY... IN THE MIDST OF TROUBLE
Even though I am not an overly “Churchy” person I have a remarkable relationship with the Lord. He is my constant companion and my guiding light. He lives within me and tempers my “human” spirit, although he is still working on my mouth.
I feel the need to thank him on this Good Friday... The day we celebrate and recognize his ultimate sacrifice. I feel the need to fall on my face before him and give an emotional, tearful gratitude for which there are no words.
For his divine protection of my beloved and it seemed appropriate although this was written many years ago and has never been published to offer it today... I am so grateful...
In the sunset glow, I hear it... at the bottom of the lee,
The beauty of it calling... calling out to me.
The force of rolling water, o’re the rocks that line the shore,
The towering waves that crash again to crush them just once more.
The waves, they swirl and ebb and flow, but never stop their motion,
Until the rocks have turned to sand and sifted to the ocean.
If I were a simple stone along that rocky shore...
What reason would I have to stand and face the ocean’s roar?
Or if I were a piece of wood drifting out to sea...
What reason would I have to fight the current under me?
But I am not a simple stone, ‘nor wood at peaceful drift,
I must face the ocean’s roar and feel the fear of it.
The waves so strong and merciless, the winds do ever blow,
I must resist the current, lest I drown in undertow.
As I fight this battle with the winds and with the sea,
I know that I am growing, the struggle molding me.
One day I’ll make the tidal pool, the water smooth and clear,
The waves are warm and welcoming, the shoreline growing near...
Then I’ll make the shoreline, in the garden I have sown,
For I am not a drifting wood ‘nor a simple stone.
The Lord doth tend my garden there, where he waits for me.
As I make the shoreline, he lifts me from the sea.
In those eyes I find my soul, at last Lord I am home.
For you have ever blessed me, I never was alone
I never was a drifting wood ‘nor a simple stone.