Poetry

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I thirst by my own choosing
For in the desert water flows
From the Rock, my own dear Shepherd,
Gushes life … and sweet repose.

Would it be to sand I cling?
To dry and thirsty steps?
When standing right beside me
Is One Whose way is best

If into deserts I have trod
Or through them I’ve been led
It never was to wander lost
But that by His hand I would be fed

He Who spread the earth’s foundations
Who set every single star in place
Yields His glory to no other
But would have me seek His face

I hear Him speak these words to me
I am the LORD your God
The One Who has redeemed you
No matter where you’ve trod

Oh, how I long to walk with Him
Content each day to live
Wherever He has planted me
My life, but His to live

Still, often I do struggle so
To lift my face full up
My steps grown weary by this sand
Why don’t I lift my cup?

Lift it to the Rock, to fill
With living waters, fresh and sweet
Why do I choose to struggle so
When in Him I am complete


(Isaiah 48)



© 19 October 2005
DeAnna Brooks

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