As we walk with Hannah, we see how she encounters and discovers who God says she is. This is a message not just for moms, but for all of us. Every day of our lives, we are asked to fit into a certain shape, but we don’t always fit the mold.
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In you I find peace my Lord
In you I find strength my God
I find contentment resting in Yahweh’s arms
Desires of the flesh consume me
They block out the light from Yahweh’s face
Until I find myself lost in an all too familiar place
I’ve heard this Siren song before, calling me,
Calling me further into the darkness
Where the face of my Savior is shrouded
Rooted
in my kitchen chair,
your eyes blue flashing
fire,
leaping from soul, flare
where burn flames hottest.
Forefoot, arch, then ball
are held steamy in the moist cloth,
held with both hands
by a woman in Oregon caring
for a homeless man,
now shaved and fed.
She holds His shoes in her hands.
They are worn shoes,
but the only clothes not stolen
by Romans and priests and elders
and everyone else who always wanted
a piece of Him. But they cannot have
I look at it every now and then.
We both held Him.
I and a grave share that honor.
Like Mary waiting on Easter morning
regretting a dream she thought was dead
in a world whence God had seemingly fled
leaving her weeping, perplexed, forlorn,
but daring to ask “Where is the Lord?”
and hearing at last the holy word,
Behold a child is softly crying
who will save a world lost and dying,
the wooden trough where he is lain
precursor to a cross of pain.
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As night gives birth to a billion stars
when day is gone
darkness is ever destined to be
the herald of dawn;
out of a place where hope is not
must hope be born.
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