Transpiring Praise


Monet'sphoto

His presence is heavy like dense summer air

Can be cut by a knife,

But melts flesh like butter,

Soft and pliable to His touch,

Changing and transforming,

Shape shifting into the Image.

I’m not the same.

His presence accumulates like moisture into clouds

And rains down on thirsty ground

Dry and next to dead,

Parched and desperate

Cloudburst ready, downpour welcome.

Hard heart softens.

I am ready for plowing.

The washing of the water of His Word

Cleanses seeds long ago sown

Nourishing roots to the tip

Building strength to endure

Harsh realities of sunshine and heat

Leaving reservoir to sip for everyday enjoyment.

I grow up full and overflowing.

Overflowing with thanks like a cup under faucet

Brimming with More Than Enough

That is Him. Till I spill over

On others and water that transpires into vapors

Of praise rising up into Heaven

With once parched lips singing

Praise to the only One Who satisfies.

I will never have enough.

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