By the water,
that's where it all makes sense.
The quiet ripples in the low tide,
movement matching the song of the cardinal beside me.
Everything is right as it should be.
Here I face, You.
Thought I would have much more to say;
Like coffee with an old friend.
I'm intimidated by the silence.
Where is my soul?
Somewhere in the busy thoughts,
worldly endeavors, sights cast on the future-
I left it behind.
Like the box of paper plates when I moved.
Thought I would refuel;
Like the water,
I would be made right-
moving only because
You made me to-
my movement singing
Your praise.
But it appears I am in the way.
I am in the way of me,
a clone blocking my sight.
Like a mirror before me,
broken image I worship.
What would it take?
I'm afraid to ask.
Scared of what I might need to
let go of.
Scared of what it requires;
of the scars that may be revealed.
Comfortable.
Why do You always move me out of that?
You know I don't handle change well.

I look at these houses around me.
On the one hand, serenity.
Closeness to the water,
everything is right.
On the other, cowardice.
Abandoning courage to fight.
And in the end?
The water continues to dance,
as the lives filled with my obsessions
turn to dust.
And for what?

Press forward. Follow through.
Finish well.
Bring me back to the water;
wash me in her tide.
Every time I visit, I need new life.
Don't just remind me,
hold me.
Make my path straight.
Give me back my courage;
gird me with Your strength.
When I'm eighty and fragile,
I want to look at the water and know,
her movement and resilience
reflect my lifelong soul.
That each day I thirsted,
You quenched and I praised;
That each day I fell at Your feet,
Oh Ancient of Days.