Sunday, December 15, 2013

I Wait

Empty, I wait
For what I do not know

The waiting is painful
The emptiness black and foreboding
I don't want to be here;
I'd rather be anywhere else,
doing anything else.

Why do I stay?
Where else can I go?
I wait for someone
Only he has life
Only he can light my darkness
fill my empty ache

but will he come?

He is elusive
He plays hard to get, this one
His birth is postponed

When will he come?

O God, help me wait.
Waiting feels like living death.

This stable is dark and smelly, 
but alas it's mine.
The only thing I can call my own.
My only offering for a King is a rough wooden feed trough.

I think, I hope, it will be enough
because he is the kind of God who likes to sleep in this sort of place;
he doesn't take shelter in what we call "strength" or glory,
he dwells in the weak lowly places of the world.
He seems to prefer the dark weaknesses that we run from.

His coming is my only hope.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Don't delay
Have mercy on this one 

Shipwrecked at the stable
I wait for you.

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