hitting light

When light hits the wet pavement, brought under the city's fire,

We ask, when did the rain come?

The last few days God has been having his way in whispers of admonition.

Mild, kind reproof of what He looks down on.

Broken vessels, cisterns brewing without water.

In their flesh, and tender needs,

But no voices speaking it.

When do we say it?

When the rain finally comes?

We falter and spin out and He pulls us back in.

His grace echoes

down,

down further past the bricks of

Recoiled hearts.

Come up,

He pulls us on.

The sky He holds is

Whole blue and you see

Redeemed in His clouds.

But we sit with muddy, dry hands

In the bottom of our wells.

Stubborn fools,

Come home and tell

Them the fire is out

And the rain is.

loves,

m