Desert Waiting

Two millennia of

silence—

how well I know that

void of Word.

From generation to generation

expectancy passes—

stories told repeatedly over time

to bring light to the darkness.

But oh, how small that glow

without your breath

to blow upon hope’s ember,

fanning it into love’s

flame.

And so

we wait—

repeating age-old tales in

the dimming light,

squinting against the darkness—

willing our eyes to see,

our ears to hear,

our hearts to hope.

Longing overshadows

expectancy—

When, Lord, will you come?

When, Lord, will you speak?

When, Lord, will you save us?

Longing gives way to desperation—darkness falls in earnest.

Silence continues—

two thousand years more.

And we,

in our own Israeli desert,

again await your coming.