Soaking in the Son

      This is another phone poem written on my phone. And another poem written at a hotel. I hated it yesterday. That happens, a writer does not have to love all her brain children. But today we have made a tentative peace. If it continues, I will post it.

Soaking in the Son

 

Thank you Lord for this,

for all the times like this,

sitting in front of a nice hotel

soaking in the sun,

when there is none at home.

For a time without schedules and lists

to think, and to breathe, and to be,

just be a daughter of a King

who loves me. Whom I do not,

cannot even, thank as I should.

And I go from these sunny respites

to a much more beautiful land,

to the place, people and purposes 

you have planned for me.

So many blessing, too few words.

And if this is how you choose

to bless me on a fallen Earth,

far from my King and Father,

what will heaven be like

when I come home to you?

 

To an indescribable land and

the people, purpose and home

you have planned for me. 

Soaking in the Son for all time,

yet still unable to thank you enough.