All this time I have been standing in front of a crack in a rock surrounded by sweltering dessert. And I’m begging for the trickle of water that slips from between the boulders to be at least a weak willed stream.
Be ye careful what you wish for.
Maybe it’s the object I’m looking at. Maybe it’s the source and not my inability to believe hard enough that God wants me to have the water. Because all it takes is my shoulders to slacken down in submission for the ground to start shaking in this wasteland.
I can feel the tremors of this dessert floor. I can see the crack lines along this natural fault. I can hear from my standing position a roar of water so faint it teases my parched spit glands. And I fear with any sudden move the ground will split and swallow me whole, sending my parched and sun bloated body between the mounds of broken earth and into the crashing waves below. I yearn to be carried off in that current. Like a sign from God, letting my body yearn like that in complete submission to His will is all it takes for my fear to turn into courage, for the ground to slip out from under me, for the water to ravage and consume me.
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