And More

Yes.  I am struggling with God.
Yet perfectly and safely held by Him.
I pick.
Random stick.
And spank the ground.
Pound out prayers.
Talking to Jesus.
Cry with out tears.
And stand there by the pond.
Reflecting silver sky.
Reflecting me.
Close skies make me quiet.
I see trees falling in water.
Red leaves make curling boats.
Tiny currents trace them delicately.
Respectful coffins.
Who will paddle them?
And how can I go home?
Unchanged, still?
My thoughts.
FULL of Him, ALL of Him, MORE of Him.
I am the discontented soul.
Sighing.
Dying.
Clinging.
Trusting.
For more.

Of Jesus,

Bernadette