Poetry

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COME SUP


A sweet relentless rumbling,
Like a mighty quake,
Greets me many mornings
The moment I’m awake.

It beckons me to follow
Before the sun is up;
To come and join in fellowship
And at His feet to sup.

It rises from a chamber
Planted in this Potter’s clay.
That special place of solitude
Where I can come to pray.

It’s unwilling to stay empty.
It beckons, oh, so sweet
To come and fill that chamber up -
To sit at Jesus’ feet

It whispers of its hunger
For time alone with me.
It knows an ache, unsatisfied -
My heart, it hears its plea.

But, oh, too many mornings,
My heart wakened by that voice,
Discovers that I’ve wandered
And made a reckless choice

Unbidden thoughts about the day,
Have filled this chamber up
And in their frenzied business
Have left an empty cup.

I crave a moment’s solitude
Somewhere within my day
To capture what I set aside
When my thoughts went off to play.

For that hunger’s growing stronger
Within the Lord - and me.
And I must now surrender
To that clear and faithful plea.

A plea to draw beside Him
To know His heart today
To find our hungers satisfied
As Potter joins with clay.



© November 2004
DeAnna Brooks

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