There are days when I reflect
upon the moments of my history
and I taste satisfied fragrance,
like a well-aged bottle of wine.
It is easy then to ponder
the beauty of Isaiah’s God:
holding me in tender arms,
etching my name on divine palms.
There are other long-spent days
when I chew upon my memories,
only to taste the dry crumbs
of stale and molded bread.
How difficult then to perceive
the steadfast love of God;
How empty then is my longing
for a sense of divine embrace.
There are yet other days
when I sit at a great distance,
looking at the life that is mine;
threading the loom of my past
with a deep belief in faithfulness.
It is then that I see how fidelity
has little to do with fine feelings,
and everything to do with deep trust,
believing the One who holds me in joy
will never let go when sorrow sets in.