by M.H. Hanson (originally posted December 7, 2010, updated December 7, 2011)
I do not know where the
words come from. They are like
water that gushes from a spigot.
I don’t question their existence. Only quickly place the
bucket of my heart underneath praying my confession.
And as I try to catch it I Hope that the drops will fall where they should.
In or outside the cup of my heart, dependent on a fate I do not control.
I have a thirst that lives within me, always with me.
And I must live with it every day. And with my commitment to be authentic.
This is an adventure that began with my cavernous need.
If it is true that God suffers with us in our grief, then I am grateful for the comfort of his companionship.
Even for this longing, a thirst that lives ever within.
Always thirsty. I don’t question the
Water’s existence. Only quickly place the
Bucket of my heart underneath praying.