Why is it
When we shake our fists at God
We forget
To unclench our fingers
And stare at our palms…
…are there nail scars there?
Why is it
That we hunger and thirst
For crumbs on the floor
When the Banquet Feast
Is prepared and ready to serve
On the table
Why is it
That even as we cry ‘all is grace’
Doubt is an evil serpent
With fangs gaping
And all we can do is cry
‘I believe’
And ‘help my unbelief’?
Why is it
When our mouths hemorrhage with curses
We forget;
The one thing we can never utter
Is redemption
His final words
Before He died
Why is it
That we choose to
Die of thirst
in the wilderness
Beside a well
Of Living Water?
Janet Martin
