Resting in the stream, He’s all I’ll ever need.
How could I have been so blind, and had such unbelief?
Setting up my little puddle just beside the creek,
Carrying buckets to and fro’ until my arms grow weak;
Wondering why that stagnant feeling comes,
And life looks bleak…
Like the woman at the well drawing water day by day,
Not knowing right beside her was the Life, the Truth, the Way;
Like Peter with such faith to set his feet upon the waves,
But failing in his strength because he lost his Savior’s gaze;
Like Martha in the kitchen, losing the will to keep on serving,
Forgetting the importance of receiving, and of learning;
But not the kind of learning this world prizes,
Not at all…
The kind that picks you up and dusts you off when’er you fall;
The kind that says “I love you,” even when you drop the ball;
The kind that redefines your worth in the sacrifice He made;
The kind that wants you to know His love and forget about the grade;
The kind where the Teacher has everything that you could ever need,
And will carry you safely through each test when but for help you plead.
Is it surprising that Satan has tried to convince us
We can’t lie in the stream?
But laying our life down in Christ is where true freedom reigns,
Allowing the current of perfect love to wash away our pain;
Allowing Him to live His life through our weak hands and feet,
That through just five small barley loaves, a multitude may eat;
And all we had to do was just lay down,
And just believe.
(“In the Stream”, Original Poem, May 8, 2024)
