Come to Me.

Words, whispered on the wind, and winding through my spirit.

Come to Me.

The words travel on the wings of night's opaque bleakness,

--pouring into my being through a crack in the door.

A tiny beam of light prisms through this holy door,

providing a path for the words to make their entrance.

I curtsey,

Then fling my arms around Beloved's neck.

Come to me.

His longing pulses through my spirit as inner ears awaken to the sound of Beloved's voice.

Come to me.

Come to me.

Oh how the Lord bids us come.

It's a simple word, --- one that reverberates through the mountains,

dances through the valleys,

swims in the sea of high tide,

and frolics in the low.

Come to me.

Beloved's voice is gentle, yet pressing….

yearning, yet so complete.

Oh how the Lord longs for His people.

Oh how the Lord longs to gather His people like a hen her chicks,

if we would but

Come.

Just as the Spirit of the Lord hovered over creation,

brooding in a deep sense of immanence just moments before His powerful

Word brought forth life, so in this moment,

the Spirit hovers,

drawing His creation to His bosom…

calling us from the commerce,

the busyness,

and all that distracts us from His holy Presence.

The Spirit of the Lord says, 'come!'

I watch the brooding heavens,

Patched in winter white,

overcast in shades of grey and lavender…

streaks of plum and charcoal, hints of darkness

paint the sky with overwhelming presence.

Brooding, brooding. Hovering, hovering.

The Spirit of God waits like an expectant father outside a delivery room.

Clouds, at the point of bursting, swirl and streak with His brooding
immanence.

They seem to wait in quiet attention for the signal,

when at His command they can release their fullness upon our drought.

Rain on us precious Lord.

Pour on us.

Help us stand, faces upturned

without an umbrella.

Drench us in your holiness and life.

Surround us in Your Presence.

Give us ears to hear your simple word,

As you bid us,

'Come.'