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I write, mostly to keep my head from exploding. It threatens to do that a lot. My blog is the pixelated version of all the voices in my head. I tend to dive into what connects me to God, my community, my family and my doubt. I do a lot of searching, not as much finding. I’m good with that. I have learned, finally, to live comfortably in the gray. In the meantime, I wrestle with God, and my doubt and my joy.

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

To God, who divides the waters

I think of Nachshon
who walked into the waters
until they almost swallowed him.
Past his chin they came,
but he didn't stop.

He walked, they rose.
And then they parted.

Just like that,
a miracle of divine order.
They say the angels flew about,
singing sweet psalms
and cheering the marchers on,
until God reined them in,
showering them with shame.

The waters now are rising
and we desperately need
a ribbon of dry land.
People are wading through
chest-high currents
that eddy and ripple and 
drag at their sodden feet
and leaden hearts, 
threatening again to
swallow them whole.

Dear God, who moves 
upon the water's face;
who divided the waters 
and makes the rain;
Who sends the storms
and attends the tides -
do You wait again for Nachshon,
wrapped in his faith 
and in his folly,
to walk, and show You
once more, where the waters 
need to part?