My love for Him seems dimmed.
I’ve let dust settle over the place where I usually sit clear-eyed,
ready for Him to come with a fresh word.
I’m avoiding Him, scattered in my thinking,
frittering away precious time on things that matter little.
And so life’s colors have faded a bit.
I know this isn’t real peace, this nothingness creeping in.
He sits in the shade at the water’s edge. Relaxed. Waiting.
His hand skims across the glassy pool and He lifts a palm of water toward me.
The drops glisten, slipping through his fingers into the grass.
Come, be clean.
I bow low and snuggle down in the grass and rest at His feet.
It’s quiet. Safe.
He pulls me in close though ugly leaks from my soul.
I give it words, I tell it all—I want to be free to see Him real clear.
To see life real clear, too, just like after the rain.
I’m so thirsty. I want to drink Him in.
And I want to taste the sweetness of His Word, those honey-sweet words of Life.
O, Savior, won’t You wash it all away.
“Against You, You only, have I sinned…
Surely You desire truth in the inner parts;
You teach me wisdom in the inmost place.”
—Psalm 51:4, 6 niv
You too? Want to be clean?
Turn, He’s waiting for you in the cool of the day at the water’s edge.
Sit with Him—and come clean.