before it can be repaired.
For you would turn us and all that is dear,
upside-down, almost beyond repair.
Inside out and torn right through,
until we, with nothing, come to you.
What we thought to be adhered, as though glued.
You would ask us to release, and let go.
You would ask us to cut away, and expel.
And to let the wounds run clean, under your tender mercy.
For what we cannot retain, we must lament.
For our carpet that is torn from under us,
we must pine with tears.
Let them fall on the hard, cold ground,
upon which Jesus himself lay - at Gethsemane.
you whip the words, like the wind, from our mouths.
With anguish you silence us, as we hit the wall.
Render wordless the very prayers and thoughts of our minds.
Until we can only stand in awe, wounded yet still whole,
under the tower of safety - that is your wall.
you would armour us, again, for war.
Against that, which without just fight,
we may lose the ground you have secured.
In the endless battle for our souls,
the balance of power, you would have us restore.
where there is a time for everything under the sun.
In this dance, of love and loss, laughter and mourning.
We must recall that it is all only temporary.
For now we take your hand in the crucifixion,
and then you lead us on to resurrection.
Our lives now, a series of little deaths.
Scattering seeds, as though stones,
so that we may gather, what in sorrow and pain, we've sown.
So that our soul may enlarge,
our hope grow and expand as a balloon.
That it might be filled in time, with all of you.
Ana Lisa de Jong
|Russell Beach, Bay of Islands New Zealand|
Sitting as an adult at the beach where I used to swim as a child.