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