Thoughts

Healing

i
am water.
my soul ripples,
outward
a million flecks of sun
caught within my
waves . . .

i
am water
deep, and shadowed.
the moon
lays herself across
the face of dark, and sleeps . . .

. . . i
am water
strong and fragile,
silent . . .
swirling death and blackness
birthing life and
light . . .

i
am water
sweet and bitter,
poured.
mysterious, like rain: raging, healing,
still.

The Water Mirror

"Meet me outside, My love," He says. I grab my coffee and step into the wild. He knows when I'm restless and need sanctuary, when doubts arise, when stormy waves crash against my feet, my knees. While the unknown looms with frightening uncertainty, so tender, so tender is He. Be still and know. Not an order, not a rule, not a burden . . .
. . . an invitation.

October sky parts with light and spirit, brushing treetops with garnet, with life. He is here, touching, undulating, changing, healing. Be still and know. The place I stand is holy ground. I breathe, inhaling Him; His presence stills soul, calms bristled waters.

There is so much I don't know.
But He does.
So many things I can't do, places I can't reach.
But He can.
So much that I am not.
But He is.

He asks me to cup myself, an expectant vessel, ready to receive, hold, pour as He desires. Why is it in the holding that I grow weary? The keeping, the waiting, the unknowing that I become faint? Why is faith so hard? Faith that He gives, and then rewards for the having?

I think I have it all wrong. "Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden," says God the Son. "I will give you rest." He knows when I try to pile on burdens, when I try to load up and listen to voices of the little gods who clamor, incessantly.

Yet the One whose name is Jealous wraps face with hands and bids me look. Come. See. Know. In love He draws me. "What is it?" He asks. I still, like water smoothed. Serenity washes across soul, wiping away the dust and grime of life. And we talk, He and I. His wind awakens chimes, embraces skin. He sends melody-makers fluttering through treetops. And the reflective little creek below reveals a secret I so easily forget.

In returning and rest, I find salvation. In quietness and confidence, I find strength. In the cupping, the holding, and in the "peace, be still," I can see the face of God.

© 2009 Hillary McFarland

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