• Kairos EME

The Exodus List: 12. Laura, Belfast

My desert is full of stuff,

which is quite contrary to what a desert it is.

A place uninhabitable

empty, vast, void.

No thing should grow or cultivate there or have life, rich soil should be hard to find.

Yet small shoots of disappointment, fear and loss, allowed doubt and anxiety to pollinate and

populate.

My desert is full of stuff,

sadness, clenched teeth, wrought hands, what ifs, what if nots.

I didn’t ‘let go’ it was ripped from my hands.

Huffy and tired, bleary eyed and sore headed.

‘Why me’ swept the wind, a sandstorm of grit and dirt.

Is that you comparison? Is that you old friend? Have you brought company; it’s time to pretend;

Everything’s grand, aye yea, can’t complain.

The dust settles on anger, resentment and pain.

All the things I ‘wanted’ I can see and I make my way towards the vision

stretch out my hand to grasp, but like most sojourners weary and in drought,

It’s a mirage. Not real, not there, not about.

My desert is full of stuff,

Yet God always remained. He’s standing right where I left him.

The further away I was the bigger the desert grew and the more deluge to be revisited on the

journey back.

It’s me that has to return, to the point where I abandoned ship

and let dust and sand and emptiness fill the flowing sea;

That union that I let go of because I let disappointment

unmet expectations and ambitions not achieved

form a void between me and the One to be received.

It’s funny. When I’m close to Him, it’s the desert that’s the mirage.


Di