We
watch as he walks softly,
firmly
through the rows
of
the camp, an old man yet
walking
with the stride
of
a younger. He turns neither
to
the right nor the left, his gaze
fixed
on the tent outside,
the
one waiting for him. He enters
the
tent as the cloud descends,
the
sign that we are to bow
at
the threshold of our own tents,
knees
bent and head touching
the
ground. We hear nothing
from
the cloud but we know
to
wait, wait for the ascent,
the
sign that it is done.
He
walks back, turning neither
to
the right nor the left, his mind
fixed
on the tent outside.
1 comment:
Such an invitation here, Glynn, thank you. We just moved and now have a little retreat house on our property. I have a sense that God is waiting there (and everywhere, of course). You've depicted well how God's spirit draws us and the chutzpah it takes to walk with purpose (and surrender) toward that place of meeting.
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