My river is weeping gaudy tears upon the worn sand banks, rutted with the heartbreak from a thousand days of rivulets and formed by the ruthless backwash of a spring, ill spent.
Tomorrow promises floods renewed and torrents of mindless splashing in the matte surface of mud-filled holes. No rainbows here, no golden beam, few rays of hope.
I run with my river, I shower in the rain, I say "Pour it on me." as one day flows into the next, and pelting is what I know, though what I long for are sprinkles and a slow current.
I take my stand as the rushing foam plays at my ankles; I feel with my sole the sinking beach as it searches for its bed of rock. Well splashed from above and below, I become the meeting place.
Do I rejoice? Is this a washing of the soul, or a baptism of the flesh, Shall I hide in the deep or awaken from the snags of my dreams? Will shedding the moisture of grief be the most I forever know?
I linger on this damp filled strand, screaming thoughts, but God has plans. Repentance is reflected in a colorful bow and I turn as Truth appears through the droplets, and drying takes place, then I can see the path Grace laid for me.
Petulant clouds are lifted back into the heavens ready to roll over another unrequited searching heart. Light was born anew, as quick as a spear thrust into a willing rib, sacrifice was made and all is changed.
To the Masters hand I release my river, now calm and burnished with gold, where once the rain fell heavily, and was swallowed whole, the river is now well fed, and strenghtened by trust, it rushes on through today streaming toward tomorrow.
God is the current and the crest of each wave, I must remain liquid and willing to follow His flow!
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