“Blessed are they who dwell in Your house,
for ever singing Your praise.”
(Psalm 84:4)
This inhabited, sometimes haunted house,
O Lord, often weak and cold – journeying
one painful step at a time, like
a skeleton held together by metal rods –
is still Your sacred dwelling.
Bells and songs ring out, often
with wordless groans, night and day.
You hear them say:
Help! Have mercy!
It’s barely bearable pain!
What is this?
(Maybe it’s manna.)
These songs, indeed, convey
my authentic praise this moment
even more than some
feigned joyous thanksgiving.
A warm rain of tears now
waters the centuries-old foundation
of this, Your house, O God,
where I sit, face toward the dirt,
awaiting the promised Spring
flowers
which will surely sprout.
On that day, I’ll sing
“Morning Has Broken”
on and on while soaking
up the bright rays
of Your eternal day.
Yes, I’m blessed
to live in this house.
What are your thoughts?