My faith used to hang like an old coat

from the hook on my side door

Ready for the cold blasts of regret

to warm my loneliness 

 

but not for intolerable furnaces of pride

I found I didn’t need that coat and let it stay

upon the hook gathering dust while I prattled.

But is this faith? …no.

 

It was a security blanket of my own doing.  Faith is something beyond self, but oh, concerning self it is.  More than hope, it is believing in a promise of restoration to wholeness of a fractured soul.  

 

Faith is a horizon that a new life is just over the bend in time and space where there is a home for us.

In admittance that we must be mended with grace, then we are home.  

 

True faith carries us on its wings. We feel it beating in our heart, feel its breath upon our cheek.  Faith has become a part of us, sinew and bone.  

 

Faith holds us up as we seek the lighthouse in the distant night, the north star to guide us to the Holy place where we may rest our head and hear the words, the living words that run like waters through our soul nourishing the parched dry landscape of our heart