Happy (seven days into the) New Year! Today’s piece is by Libby P., a poem entitled “To My Father.” The imagery in this piece is lush and vivid, and the theme is presented with emotion and care.
To My Father
Father, gracious Father,
I seek your face.
Why do you hide when I need you most?
My soul yearns for you, weeping silent tears of hunger,
yet the fears that mar your handiwork
are years of pain and bitterness that I cannot undo.
I remember, long ago, you woke me up—
you breathed into my lungs new life.
And for a while, I danced on clouds
and made my home in a cradle of stars,
I gasped with each brilliant sunset you painted…
each stroke of your brush
a glimpse of your love.
And I kissed the tearless faces here below
with tales of the radiant hope that you brought
to my soul.
When was it that I turned my gaze
and lost sight of your glory?
Did I leisurely drift on counterfeit wings
of discontent that brought me
to this cracked and sunbaked soil?
Was I borne to earth on winds of pride
that swept me from the lofty heights
attained for me by Another’s hand?
Surely I have forgotten how it was
that I lived, for if not by my will,
then it must have been by yours.
But now, Lord, my head is bowed
with grief; my eyes are
sunken in despair.
Shame saps my strength—a weight on my chest—
It leaves me too weary to look up and find you.
I’m parched, Lord, and empty, for I’m waiting in the desert.
forsaken in this wilderness,
this land of death that yields not
a single drop
Is all lost?
I look to the skies,
but they do not answer—
but all is dark.
In anguish, I fall to my knees and
But even as I falter,
when I cannot pull my breath
you grasp my hand and lift me.
I feel your gentle touch upon my forehead—
cool with peace.
My ears tingle with your tender whisper:
why do you weep?
I have covered you with the blood of my Son
yet you think you’re the only one
who can save you?
Remember that I’ve paid your debt—
Father, gracious Father,
merciful Savior, lover of my soul…
you are my oasis where the living water flows.
Breathless, gasping with awe
at the cascading cataracts thundering
deep into the ground, I fall
to my knees, my hands are cupped as
heavenly dew slips through my fingers.
Father, you are my life;
when I am weary, you carry me;
when I am thirsty, you give me water;
when my heart aches, you give me peace.
Lord, help me to remember your faithfulness.
When you do not answer—when you are silent and I cannot hear you—
remind me of your goodness and your constancy.
Your grace is sufficient for me,
Your mercies are new every morning,
for when I am weak,
You make me strong.
About the Author
Libby is a quiet dreamer made new in Christ. Manipulating words on a page, making music on the piano, and laughing are all ways she expresses the joy God has brought to her soul. Living with the great hope of Jesus’ return has given her a passion to reach the nations – including the lost people of her own – with the Gospel of Christ; her prayer is that he will use her work to reflect his glory and grace.