torrents of my making

wavelighthouse

I talk and I talk, and I write and I write.
I’ve lug a megaphone around with me to amplify my tiny ideas of light,
What it means to be salt, what it means to be right, and mostly: what I mean.
You know what I mean?
You’d think, for all my talk, fear couldn’t chill my blood.
But I can’t feel anything holding me fast below this mud.

Lord, can you hear me?
Do you see your wild-clinging child, groping for a rope, for hope?
I’ve always wondered: does hope sink or float?
Is it anchor or boat?
Because my house won’t hold back these waves,
And half the time I’m only correcting how I behave
And my will within and walls without cave unto the mud.
And sometimes I believe that I’m adrift upon this flood.

But when I tear my heart away from torrents of my making,
I can only see Him Who holds me fast.
He’s always been there, and He isn’t any further than He was before.
It seems that even when I drift I end up tethered to the shore.
Your Word says to believe, “I am Foundation in the flood.”
And my anchor isn’t action, but Your blood.

“Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say? As for everyone who comes to me and hears my words and puts them into practice, I will show you what they are like. They are like a man building a house, who dug down deep and laid the foundation on rock. When a flood came, the torrent struck that house but could not shake it, because it was well built. But the one who hears my words and does not put them into practice is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. The moment the torrent struck that house, it collapsed and its destruction was complete.”
Luke 6:46-49

(Liturgical poetry during ordinary time after Pentecost is inspired by the parables of Luke.)

Words for the Church: Ordinary Time
difficult, divine
better

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