After chasing it like a lone panting dog, frantic, ears pinned back, racing tired, drooling after the prize, through wood and thicket and the pursuit of it.
Bare and beat with the world and all its promises of it.
But it does arrive, and not because of me.
Sometimes in spurts, on a quiet day, a sprinkler with drops that you run under and run away from again, giggling.
Sometimes in a wash of a wave, tidal and immense, where it rips you off your feet and lands you on your stomach, sprawling and catching your breath, with your bathing suit filled with sand and you sigh with glee and gratitude.
Sometimes in a stream, steady and glistening in the sun, ripples running afresh and new and constant and bright and you glide through, smiling.
Sometimes here and there like stray drop of rain that catches you on the forehead and you look up and around from whence it came and then you stay aware looking for more….
Sometimes it hides itself in a drought
dry and empty
and you must, you must: search it out, shovel it up, bring it to light to quench you.
But it always, always arrives.
He promises you that.
When you seek Him who gives it freely.
Even when the digging is deep, He promises you-
You are His.
These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.