Quiet Waters

“The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land.” (Psalm 95:5)

“Moses answered the people, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the LORD will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.’” (Exodus 14:13-14)

My thirst is quenched by the mighty flood of the Lord; above me is the waterfall of the Spirit—crashing down to soak my soul with a gentle raging power—below, the ubiquitous thick rainforest steam rising up to steep my skin and lungs in its warm, wet glow. I sit at the shoreline of His broad ocean, bright shining with the light of the Morning Star, waiting for healing to come—and am met by the rising tide and lapping waves, kisses tickling blisters, cooling bruises and sore feet. I am a drip in the ocean and the whole of the ocean is cupped in His hand and still He sees me.

“‘Therefore, say to the Israelites: “I am the LORD, and I will bring you out from under the yoke of the Egyptians. I will free you … and I will redeem you… I will take you as my own… And I will bring you to the land I swore with uplifted hand to give to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob. I will give it to you as a possession. I am the LORD.”’” (Exodus 6:6-8)

This is the marriage proposal of my King, and His promise is to plant me “like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever [it] does prospers” (Psalm 1:3). I am a mangrove, not planted beside but swamped in His living water, surrounded on all sides by His green warm nourishment, soaked to overflowing, His precious guarded garden. The Everglades. Eden.

“LORD, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.” (Psalm 16:5-6)

The Lord has decided on that portion, and it is the end of barrenness—it is the richness of endless oil pouring a continual steady rain of life, glossing my heart with the fresh dewdrops of a brilliant new morning.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.” (Psalm 23:5-6)

It is endless, this fullness of joy and brimming over of blessings, these endless glorious riches of Christ Jesus, the fullness of the knowledge of His presence, the hope of glory. I am filled and anointed and blessed to pour out, anoint and bless. I am the fruit-laden tree, never giving from need, but bounty—food for the hungry, rest for the weary. Birds hidden in branches cry out their song, a mellow lulling lovely refrain for the anxious in spirit who have come to abide in my shade. I give from the fullness of life I’ve been given, from the stores of oil and flour that never run empty. I give from the flood of gifts of my immeasurable God.

“I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” (Ephesians 3:16-18)

My Lord knows where I am, and He has come after me and has found me. I am rooted in His depths of love—deep calls to deep—rooted in the deep veins of pure underground streams untouched, untapped, unblemished, rich with the minerals of the earth. I cannot be pulled out. I am His perfect bride, enraptured by His covenant promises. I cannot be pulled away. My being is stretched to the edges of infinity, eternity is in my heart, everlasting in the light and love of my Lord, and still He fills me to eager excess and fills me with hope for this new monsoon season. I need only be still.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)

Desert Land

“O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you. My soul thirsts for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water.” (Psalm 63:1)

“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. Where can I go and meet with God?” (Psalm 42:1-2)

This summer has been dry for my soul. It has been a summer of harsh heat, of bruised reeds and smoldering coals, of a laziness that keeps one in the dimness of a stifling room, unmoved and unmoving—the only sound the whirring wings of a single, over-sized fly.

I have wandered this desert land for two months; I have felt the long weary dead distance to God, the strain of walking through sand, the burnt breaking skin, the rattling gasps of dry lungs breaking free from bleeding cracked black lips. Hour after hour, day after day—wavering heat rises from the endless, empty horizon and unrelieved sand. My steps slip on hillsides as I wander, aimlessly, eyes squinting shut, having no clear nor vague idea to look for water. The dullness of my senses prevents me from being taken in by mirages.

Was there life in this place—anything restorative or redemptive at all to stumble across by chance? Was there any way to lighten this load, to refresh the soul? Would it ever rain again—would heaven ever open with a glorious peal of sudden thunder and crack open the clouds with lightning would the sky drop, turning asphalt black and plastering the brilliant orange of autumn leaves to the pavement would the land be soaked again, dripping with the life and light of the Lord of hosts? Where was the ocean? Where was the Spirit?

“Jesus answered her, ‘If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.’” (John 4:10)

I’m asking, Lord! I’m asking! I know—I’ve tasted it! Restore my passion for your voice and redeem my heart’s wilting petals from its ugly, soulless malaise.

“Jesus answered, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.’” (John 4:13-14)

Give me this water, Lord! I’m thirsty! I hear and know and believe the promises, but my dry tongue still distracts. I desperately look around me for one muddy puddle. I feel in my depths a faintness overtake me, but out of the darkness hear a voice:

“The Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come!’ And let him who hears say, ‘Come!’ Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.” (Revelation 22:17)

And with the painful realization of my weakness I sit, a messy heap in the dust, without to energy to go. If He wishes me to rise, He must bring me the water Himself. And I sit, and I wait quietly, watching, and in the stillness—perhaps I will give in to images without resistance—hope breaches the crest of the sandy slope before me. I watch its crawling progress to the trough where I lay—it sends tiny stones skittering down to meet my face, a gentle avalanche assuring me of hope’s actual existence.

“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior." (Habakkuk 3:17-18)

My Lord knows where I am. I cannot flee from His presence or go from His Spirit or be hidden by darkness. He will leave the ninety-nine to find me, and will lead me again by quiet waters, and lead me out of this darkness and into His marvelous light. He is the Alpha and the Omega, and He has come, and is offering “water without cost from the spring of the water of life” (Revelation 21:6). I hear His song and am lifted from the dirt and my heart from darkness and my spirit from despair.



Source: gracehilladultcare.com



And I am brought through another season and am washed clean and made new by His great, tender love and great, forever patience; and I breathe in, lungs stretched full, heart stretched full, and breathe out—a lazy, contented sigh of relief warmed again by the closeness of His presence.

“Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will respond as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt.” (Hosea 2:14-15)