I sit, trying to still the waters of my soul,
Trying to find myself within their flow,
Even as the howling storms around me
Threaten to split the very stones beneath my feet.
But the water is not threatened by cracking rock.
It merely flows into that space as well.
And with sweet relief I see that the level of my pool is not diminished.
The source of that water is not within me.
The spring that feeds my soul is unlimited.
And even when a deep crevasse opens up before me, the water fills it all.
I do not have to fall into the abyss.
The water holds me up.
Sometimes the contours of the change make it whitewater – full of crash and spray
But if I will trust the ride, and leave the end within your hands,
It can be an adventure.
A rainbow rises in the mist that floats across the tumult.
Pull me into this reality, oh Holy One, I pray.
And help me hold firm to your buoyant grace.
Rock, scissors, paper … water covers all. You win.
Quiet Hope 