There are days when I curse Him
for having this hold on me.
Days when the salt of my tears
carves pathways down my cheeks,
When the sun disappears from
my world for days at a time
and I listen for
His breath, His voice,
When I struggle to see His
shadow on the sidestreets of
my life.
Where does He go on such days?
I wish I knew, but as always
He finds me waiting like
a small child who hears her
father's voice in the distance
when she's been lost and is
suddenly found.
On those days, I sigh and lay my
doubting thoughts on the splinters
of His cross and drink the wine
of His truth.
--
copyright April 2000
Judith Anne Labriola
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