yielded
at times I wonder what exactly He sees.i've never been so content in
the middle of a whirlwind.
in the natural eye,
nothing makes sense.
it would seem that i am being stripped,
layer after layer,
unrelenting scrutiny
under watchful eyes.
It is like being skinned alive,
sliver by sliver, until the whole body,
its' natural covering shorn,
lays exposed, bleeding...
vulnerable.
Does a clay jar shattered
ask its potter to state his intent?
And if I saw where
this traipsing trail led,
would I walk through the haze
with even an ounce more of courage?
Would the darkness be less heavy,
the silence less cold?
Would I not, being only human,
shudder with intense fear,
if He granted my request
and showed me the length
of the arid deserts, the
depth of the murky waters,
that would leave me standing
a woman etched in His image?
I will wait on Him,
in the eye of the storm.
In this place of Shalom,
I will rest my head at His feet
and sing... of His mercy.
posted by Handmaiden @ 11:23 pm
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