When I'm not close to You, I'm sinking. The earth begins to crack open, the omen of shattering laying heavy among your people.
Sparks from the depth of the earth fly into the heavens--red and orange and black.
My mind, just before falling in, drifts to the ocean--good days of blessing and laughter and communion with You. I reach up to blue, all the while sparks flying forward and backward and sideways.
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I don't fall in. I sit on the ledge, feet dangling over the heated pit. It beckons flesh: gratification, "ease," wealth, promises (empty), worthless temptation.
I look back, realizing I don't have to do this.
A field beyond calls--a voice calls. The God/Man waits, and above the hellish voices, I hear whispers in my soul to come to Him.
There is nowhere else to go: He is it. I've always known, but a predisposition -- it creeps up every now and again.
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I'm in a field of wildflowers. Yellow and white and pink, and the Savior of the world is with me, calling my name. He wants me, though I deserve the cracks. He is my stability. He keeps me from wandering.
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