When Will We Get There, My Lord?

The valley…

It’s been long and painful for myself and a good deal of people around me right now. People that I love dearly. Not to sound bleak or depressing, because there are glimpses of light here and there. And I know all of life’s seasons won’t be as trying as this one.

But, damn.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a poem during perhaps my biggest crisis of faith thus far. One day, I’ll be able (and allowed) to share so much more with whoever reads these things, but for now… for now, a glimpse into the desperate recesses of my heart.

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A thousand times and then some more, my soul gives out and You carry it across these deserts and through scorched valleys. 

When will we come to water, my Lord?

These glimpses feel like mirages dried up like the dust, and just as the dust forms spinning cones, so my head is a storm. And when the storm comes through, it levels my heart and all of it’s towers. I have more than one  tower of Babel, my Lord. But of course, you know it to be so. 

Sure, I’ve asked You to make it new, but never I imagined it to be such an occasion as this. What a devastation to the actual soul that sits in my bones somewhere between my spirit and my flesh. 

This is far too much to bare, and just like my towers, You know this to be true as well. Which is why You stand waiting for the candle’s flame to die out. For You scoop up the ashes, as black and lifeless as they are, and You carry them with your hands across the land of death and into a new place, a place I’ve not been before. 

When will we get there, my Lord?