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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