Wednesday, July 20, 2011

The Secret Place

I sit on a mountain
it's peak stretches up
The ground cannot touch it,
even for the birds it is too high

There, I am protected
There, I find my place
It's there I see His face

Every morning when I wake,
I climb that Holy hill
Hoping to catch a glance of His eye

And every morning He meets me there,
Waiting to restore my soul
and give me a fresh touch of His love

That mountain is beautiful,
with it's rocky peak, and cascading clouds around

To the north, I see white billows of snow
To the south, a dry valley low
Greenery all around the entire base,
The sun rising in the east

Colors splash with warmth against my face
The cool wind refreshes my weary soul

As beautiful as that mountain is,
the endless amount of colors I see,
the feelings against my skin
It's in Him where the beauty resides

He is dark and rugged
Not what I imagined when I was little

But, imagination has been destroyed, and encounters replace it

He is not clothed with robes,
or a crown today
He meets me where I am at,
with bare feet and a messy mane

Such an attire for the Son of Man.

He sits there, staring to the East,
His hands bringing His legs close to His chest

He breathes deeply,
the air which He created
Closes His eyes as if listening to One's voice

Nodding slowly, as if responding to the voice in His head,
He turns, locks eyes with mine

It's the look I wake up every morning to see
Because after the glance,
He always speaks to my soul

He begins to tell me secrets of His father
How old these secrets are?
I am not sure

I listen to Him intently,
not to miss a word
He tells me the plans He has for me,
but to protect me

He speaks of a Garden from a distant land
Tells me its creative purpose to walk hand in hand with Him

These are not new concepts,
yet they sound new every morning,
as He hands me the day's mercies.

His whispering voice
does something to my heart
The whisper reminds me
He talks to me alone

No one else is here.

He anoints my head with oil,
and fills my cup until it overflows

He takes my head in His hands,
still not breaking gaze
"I love you. I've always loved you. I will always love you"

With that, I close my eyes
to embrace His words
and listen to His creation in my ears

I hear the wind pick up
It nearly drowns out His whisper

I strain to hear Him more
My dry and weary soul begins to no longer thirst,
for His touch has filled me up

The wind is louder, different now,
It almost sounds like pages knocking against one another
Trying to use other senses to strain past it,
I open my eyes, hoping to hear Him louder

I look around, surprised, as I do every morning

I am back in my room
window flown open,
wind rushing in,
causing my bible to flip violently page to page

Tomorrow, I will meet Him again

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