A poem by Jacinta Wick
Sweetest of whispers
Rushes of air
Through hell and high water
Through breezes and gently falling rain,
A voice is calling
Transcending all time.
Surrender of wills
Beckoning whispers
Calling my name.
Inviting my weakness
My blushing in shame
To be directed
Beyond my strength
Beyond my direction
Beyond my initiative
To someone else’s power.
Waiting I’ll stand
Strengthened and bolstered
Through raging torrent or
Calm
Light piercing darkness
Hand guiding still
In peaceful whispers
God’s mighty will.
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