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| Swallow at the pond |
I. The God of my yesterdays: memorial stones
YOU WERE
The Lion,
Whose pursuit struck terror
In my runaway heart
Until my legs crumpled in exhaustion,
And You picked me up with velvet paws
And whispered in my ear
That You were shorn and slain,
The Lion a Lamb
For this black sheep.
YOU WERE
The Lion,
Who carried me on Your back
Through labyrinthine doctrines,
Hedged about with cliffs and shadows,
Into Your truth and love.
You opened Your book
And told me Your story,
My story.
The Lion a Shepherd,
Teaching me to trust You.
YOU WERE
A Lion still,
And bared Your claws to wound me,
Drops of tears and blood
Commingling in the pain
Until my legs crumpled beneath me,
And You picked me up with velvet paws
And whispered in my ear
That only weakness draws all eyes
To Your radiant strength.
II. The God of my today:
darkened, not distant
YOU ARE
Not a tame Lion. . .
“Of course, not safe, but good. . .”
“Both good and terrible at the same time. . .”
Thou art good,
And doest good;
Teach me Thy commandments.
YOU ARE
The Lion who has torn me to pieces,
And then. . . what?
Forsaken me?
Megenoito![1]
“I will never leave you or forsake you.”
In wrath, remember mercy!
“Thou art the same Lord,
whose property is always to have mercy.”
YOU ARE
Sometimes hidden,
Never absent,
The Lion in the fog
Between the path and the abyss.
You hem me in, behind and before;
Your love has laid hold of me
And will not let me go.
“I AM; do not be afraid.”
I fear no evil,
For YOU ARE.
III.
The God of my tomorrow:
Preparing
a place for me
YOU WILL BE
God of tomorrow—
There,
Wilderness wastelands,
“This cup,
this bitter cup. . .
You have given it;
How can I refuse?”
Valley of the shadow. . . .
You are there,
Will be there,
Faithful in my faithlessness.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Lie ahead,
Mist-enshrouded,
Nothing certain but uncertainty.
One thing sure:
YOU WILL BE THERE,
The Lion
Driving out my enemies,
Making the wilderness
Your castle.
Around the corner of my tomorrows. . .
YOU WILL BE THERE,
Promising Tomorrowland,
When “all will be right,
When Aslan comes. . .”
Wedding dress for widow’s weeds,
Love songs for funeral dirges,
Beauty for ashes,
Mourning into dancing. . . .
Dancing,
No more hindered by these
Wooden legs,
Broken wings.
Farther up and farther in. . .
YOU WILL BE,
YOU ARE THERE.
