The presence of His absence
Towards the end of my life,
for the most part, it’s God and me.
When it’s only me, I become unsettled,
plumb my heart, enter into prayer.
I review the articles of my faith
like thumbing through
a well-worn photo album;
imagine, rehearse His presence
until the reappearance and assurance
of the One Who never leaves.
Almost nothing in my purse now,
particularly in His sort of currency.
There’s only an either/or proposition:
His presence in my everyday life
or the presence of His absence.
And whether by grace or effort,
this trivial bit of remainder is my only asset
and He the last, lingering object of my enthusiasm.
Have faith, o child of God. One day your very freedom
might be purchased by the dust in your purse.
No comments:
Post a Comment