Persistent Widow, Luke 18

Abba, Father,

silence the inner-critic and what remains?
my Manifest Destiny?
foreign lands and growing pains?
as in the pains of child birth
which even my physical body has yet to know?

I will surely groan all the days of my life
when patience claims it’s victory.

YOU tell me there is more to me
than what I know beneath this home
I’ve called my rock

that there’s another Rock
to stand upon,

not lie beneath.

and you tell me it is you.

if I could see the light of Your face,
if I could walk to Your door
and knock

to knock

with a smile in my heart, through my spirit, of my soul, and on my face

if I could because I’m sure of the hope of Your promises
if I could because I’m certain of the me that You tell me of
even though I cannot see her
of the me completely and eternally abiding in you

 

 

Copyright © 2018 A.M. Wilsonne

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