One Day
Waiting for one day
is hard.
Because I don't know when one day is.
I only know it's one
day closer.
Until then
One day more of
sand squalls whipping across my skin
Taunting and tearing: "you are stuck here and there is
no way out."
Sand.
Gritty grinding filth in every crevice, captured between
every cranny and corner of my eyes and ears.
Made mud by my ceaseless tears.
These tears brim over with miracles.
These tears make streams in the desert where Jesus meets me
in the middle.
He plunges me beneath the waters and whispers a comforting
command:
"You are being made new."
Being made new
For a place that exists one
day beyond the desert.
Fresh mind and body bursting forth while shedding the old.
Over
And over
And over
Being remade in the desert to withstand the glory of the
Promised Land.
A caterpillar in its cocoon sheds it's skin five times.
Five.
Before it achieves breakthrough and one day becomes a butterfly.
How much metamorphosis will I endure before I am free to fly?
I want to lean into this process.
To be made ready for one
day.
But the loneliness is deafening.
The brokenness is wholly consuming.
The betrayal and pain so fresh.
It's quite one thing to submit to the process of
transformation and fight a war within.
Renew your mind
Renew your heart
Renew your faith
Renew, renew, renew.
Renew, renew, renew.
But this external full-blown warfare on top of inner turmoil
is a special brand of hell.
We are pressed on every side,
And yet, we are not crushed.
Under siege but not consumed
By flaming arrows that attack our blind spots and unprotected
spaces.
God, our hearts howl for one
day.
We pronounce blessing and forgiveness.
But the deep wounds
The raw scars
Remain.
We remain.
God remains.
By grace and confession forgiveness sets in the centre of my
wounds.
Willing them to heal painfully,
Slowly,
One day,
One day,
So as to prevent hardening.
The miracle and pain of forgiveness.
Daily we choose
Despite pain - to forgive
Despite loneliness - to love
Despite sorrow - to find joy
Despite rejection - to seek belonging
Despite despair - to worship in the ruins.
Offering praises borne of hurt and anguish
Is a gift we can only extend towards heaven now
For praises birthed in pain, sung loud from a desolate place
Will only exist this side of eternity.
Our wounded healer.
With forgiveness in his offended hands and feet
His injured side
Receives our lament of painful praise and says
It is finished.
We wait for one
day.
And trust that with these days that
Feel
Like
Death
One day
