Dear One,
How did you get here? From far off, it seemed like a nice place to wander. It looked like a desert oasis, bursting with life and water to quench your weary soul. But as you got closer, your feet dragging in the sand, the facade began to fade.
Dear One,
How long have you tarried here? Even after you sensed its guise and the veneer faded from green to gloom, you lingered, hoping the broken cisterns would soon bubble over with life-giving water. If only given enough time, what you imagined from afar would emerge from the dust. So you thought.
Dear One,
How do you not remember? You’ve been here before. The dry well that promised life, the mirage of green meadows, the sun that only scorches. These surroundings breed familiarity.
Dear One,
How did you find rest before? You didn’t dig in the dust. You didn’t scan the skyline for the next quick fix. You simply silenced your heart. And then, as the old hymn rings, I tuned it to sing my grace. Your tired soul washed over with relief and your lungs called out songs of loud praise.
Beloved,
Surrender.
And the reply: “Jesus, I’m yours”
Rachelle Windham
