quiet the thought
that says, you are in
this waiting room forever-
I can feel the heat rise to
the surface, sweat over what
I’ve yet know. mystery of the
Father whispers, I love you so.
Don’t wring your hands, hear my
song over your slumped frame,
Beloved, welcome home. I am
I don’t remember the last I wrote a poem for only 5 mins in the quiet, but it was a little scary. Also, the last line resonates with what I read this morning. All I can see in my mind is a blurry image of him wrapping me in his arms. And the biggest smile ever. I subconsciously think Jesus is gone in the wait, but nope. He just keeps on singing, even if I am VERY slow to hear.
I’m thankful he delights in me so. 🙂