Everlasting Springs

Everlasting Springs

(“Let the one who believes in me drink. Just as the scripture says, ‘From within him will flow rivers of living water.’” John 7:38)

We had been patient, waiting for the day to begin.
We had approached from below, finding the hills where
we could look out across the river, shiny and silver,
no wind, no wind, no wind.

We look to the east toward the mouth of the river some
200 miles away. We wondered how many had sent their
best wishes toward us standing above the water today.

We walked down from the hill to feel the river on our skin.
We approached from above, finding the ledges that edged
five feet into the rivers running torso. Fishermen slung
their line across the lapping waves, stirred by a late breeze
in the afternoon.

We look to the west to the foot of the river, some 50 miles
away. We wondered how many ships turned from the sea
and followed the river to upland ports to unload their burdens
before the tugboats turned them round to the sea again.

We sensed this lane of passage was something within.
We determined this was a picture of something more tangible
we could carry like canteens. We drank water to refresh
our parched tongues; we shared water to brighten the eyes
of the solitary ones. We might practice solidarity with
those excluded from the river. We might lead them by the
hand to hear how the Spirit pours herself into us like
everlasting springs.

From watching and waiting we learned to listen well,
and we were more certain now at the end of the day that
the river was our mother, always ready to share her affluence.
The river was our mother, always ready to show us the confluence
with every other stream along the way.

Depression is Insatiable

 Depression is Insatiable

 

(“[The Lord] is patient toward you, not wanting anyone to perish but all to change their hearts and lives.” 2 Peter 3:9b)

 

Depression is an insatiable beast.
Remove a single joy among thousands and I am
weeping on the couch,
praying on the toilet,
gnashing at my sleep,
and looking for just one more piece to
make my puzzle complete.

 

I have done it nearly all my life.

 

Where is the person who lets me get away with the worst?
Where is the room where I can simply boil over?
I should bottle my emotions and send them into the sea
for someone anonymous to find. I should send it unsigned.

 

But then who will speak back to my spit and tears?
Who will find my rebel heart and not give up after 1000 nights?
Who will enter with their own, bruised and guilty as mine?

 

In one day I can wipe away the joy of hours,
a single text can send a whole friendship creeping away.
They were my words, always mine.
They were my expectations; palaces, dreams, unicorns
and rainbows--a child’s watercolor illustration of belief
that should have brought every star near and complete
In every night sky.
In one major flaw the crack breaks open the useless stone
where I hide. And I never find the whole to fill the hollow.

 

I would have acted if I could, rearranged time like a sideways alphabet.
I would have stilled waters, but my own swelled on the calmest days.
I would have spoken better, but my days sometimes spin like haunted pinwheels.
I would have loved like I should. I have no answer, no defense, no lies
to help you or me or ancestors or silence understand.

 

They tell me God is patient, that he will not let me be destroyed,
but I have wrecked my own heart where it lies like a skeleton of driftwood
abandoned on the shore.

 

They tell me God is patient, that he wants me whole and redesigned,
but I’ve reformed more often than snowfall one winter to the next. I’ve
reformed, and still, more than less, my heart feels cold.