Find My Way Home
(“And he woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the waves, ‘Hush now! Be still!’ The wind dropped and everything was very still.” Mark 4:39)It might be
the streets alone that serenade my return.
I was tossed and turned; I was unspeakably fearful of
the waves that menaced my journey and the wind that
my hopes for survival.
I tried to
shake God awake; I tried to make do with my
wafer-thin prayer. I couldn’t make out the immediate response,
the noise was ineffably loud. I hoped I could be seen like
a dove holding tight against the eaves as the storm
caught the best of us unprepared.
All I knew.
All I can tell. All I care. All I can bear
was stuffed into a single hour of tempest. And
fear
was the name I gave for the cancellation of
supposed messages of light.
It was gloomy
at noon. It was annoyingly
loud.
I heard nothing like the words that struck me when
I first turned toward the sun. I only knew it was time,
it was soon,
it was daytime at its darkest, it was unfortunate
like the folly of rowing upstream.
I only understood
that it was time to
find my way home. So, I cowered with faith
at the bottom of my words and fright frothing
over the sides.
And a
voice softer than the ripple of the water
on a still and sleepy night
spoke like it already had been decided that
the storm would pass before the day began.
And plainly watching the shoreline from here
I knew it was time to
find my way home.
