the pieces strewn across the table,
and I am
unable to see how they fit together.
And my mind turns numb,
and I feel chased away by the
naggings and the petties and the frivolities.
flitting from one thing to the next,
trying to find order in the physical
because the mental is a mess.
And I see the ways that I fall short
and I question,
oh I question,
the ability, the truth,
and I long to dive
into the refreshment of You.
Where there is no rush,
where things are all in Your time.
Where I can rest without guilt,
Where I keep holy that which You have
You have set apart the sacred things.
The sacred things that whisper to my soul,
bringing sweet breath and cascading waters
to the parched being that I am.
Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose.