Water and God
When I am thirsty
In my rich, rich life
You are an open tap
Spilling out
A generous stream
To fill my clean glass.
Every time
I reach out my hand,
You are there,
Sweet and pure,
In endless measure.
At the end of my day,
I sink by inches
Into a steaming bathtub
Where you soothe my muscles
And relax my mind.
You surround me.
Sometimes.
When I live
In a poor, dry land,
I walk far
With weary feet
To find you
And bring home
A small measure of your goodness,
All that I can carry
In this yellow container
Atop my head.
Enough for today,
You sustain me
Until
Generosity builds a well
In my dirt-street village,
And I feel you pour over
My head and hands,
Washing me
In a new flood.
Sometimes.
When I hike through
Deep, wild woods
Far from houses
And civilized folks,
I find you
In a pond or stream.
You bubble in my tea kettle
Over a camp fire
In the evening
As I sit and ponder
The trail I blazed today.
Every impurity
Boils away,
And you pour into my cup,
Filling it,
Releasing all of the sweet, spicy goodness
Of hot chai tea.
I drink you down
In warm, rich sips
As I savor my journey
And rest from the day's travel.
Sometimes.
In rain clouds and puddles,
In mountain springs and creeks,
In faucets and sewers,
In man-made lakes,
In ice caps and ice cubes,
In tide pools and plastic bottles,
You are everywhere.
Easy or hard to find,
You are there.
You sustain us.
You cleanse us.
You comfort us.
You grow us.
You give life to the world.
Without you,
We are withered,
Thirsty,
Dirty,
And
Dry.
We seek you.
We find you.
We live.
We are thankful.
