A Reflection | Is. 35, Ps. 63

We are exiled wanderers.

Our feet have grown tired from the sand and our throats are parched.

In desolate dry land without water, our bodies faint.

Our scorched eyes search for safety.

Our chapped lips utter no sound.

Our bellies ache, but there is no satisfaction.

We lay our heads upon the rocks, but there is no sleep.

We toss and turn until it’s time to up, and wander again.

But You have come, and now we are returning.

Returning to the garden.

Returning to communion.

Returning to You.

For You have promised that “a road will be there, and a way," and it will be called the Holy Way.

He has walked the desert, and carved a path among the sand.

He has opened the gate to the garden that was shut.

He has dug wells along the way for us, springs of living water.

His life was poured out so that we can drink.

We are returning.

And He’s bound up our feet that we might dance and run towards home.

Waters gush to quench our thirsty mouths,

Our bodies regain strength as He raises us up from the dust.

Our eyes are touched and the glazed scales fall.

Once afraid of the sun, we now take in the beauty of the desert blossoming with wildflowers.

The wind touches our face and blows through green grass, for what was wilderness and dry land has now been made glad.

He strengthens our weak hands and our shaking knees!

He touches our unclean lips, and we burst into song!

The tongue of the mute sings with joy!

Our bellies are filled with good things, our heads lifted from the rocks to rest in meadows.

And we have found the path,

For we are returning.

As we travel, there is no predator to deter us,

No vicious beast attacks us.

It is a good path.

We can see the gate ahead,

It is open, and the Garden’s Keeper bids us, "Come!"

We are returning home.

We are crowned with joy.

We enter still singing.

We are unafraid.

And sorrow and sighing are buried beneath the forgotten sands.