It's been a rainy week,
culminating last night in lightning and bowling ball thunder,
and rivers of rain rolling from the sky.
In the middle of the night, I reached down to the side of the bed,
and sure enough, there was Barley, tucked close, in his place of shelter,
This morning we walked to the hollow, and before we were half way down,
we could hear the sound of water.
Trickles along the path flowed into small streams and waterfalls,
dripping off mossy rocks, and singing as they went.
They gathered in the bottom for a chorus of praise.
In a calm pool in the bend of the creek,
Barley lowered himself slowly into the chilly water and took a drink.
On the way back, we passed wildflowers, those jewels of the woods,
rue anemone, wild sweet William, violet wood sorrel.
|Violet Wood Sorrel|
All of this is fleeting--the wet weather creek, the fading flowers--
even Barley's shelter in the storm.
But today I'm grateful for something permanent--
the shelter that is always available in Jesus,
and His living water, that never fails to flow.
For He will conceal me in His shelter in the day of adversity;
He will hide me under the cover of His tent;
He will set me high on a rock.
Whoever is thirsty, let him come;
and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.