yet . . .

in this season of holiness,
in that unholy mess i call life,

i yearn for your face, O God,
but i see only the anger
of those who rush by me;

i hunger for your word of hope,
only to be deafened
by the voices of bitterness
on talk shows;

i ache for your healing touch,
as i am bitterly gripped
by doubt and despair;

i thirst for someone who
will gather up my brokenness
and shape me into your peace,
but find few guides
in this maddened culture.

yet . . .
in the laughter of children,
in the gentle encouragement of a teacher,
in the comforting laps of grandparents,
in the mentoring hope of a teenager . . .

i believe we can see
your goodness.

Blessed are those who come in your name,
O Lord,
even to me.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman