by Frank Lee Jennings
Walking I walk to the water again
where no bridge or crossing awaits me. Stopping at the edge I wonder, question, How shall I pass over? I bow my head.
Praying, beseeching, I cry out,
Lord, make a way for me to pass over, because there is no way, I am urged to step into nothingness, and a stone appears.
My foot falls onto a stone, a foundation. created for me by the forger of creation, by the Maker of me. Weeping,laughing, I give thanks, and walk on.
Many are the waters I have passed over, many stones have come up under my feet. on this mysterious journey of life, as I walk towards my long home.
Fearful rolling waters, foaming, troubled. Making a way He places firmament for me to tread, puts it there with His word, His untiring hands.
Death is a rolling water,
fear a troubled water, adversaries,
impending doom, rejection, lack,
sickness and temptation, dark black waters all.
Often I've stood long and long, weary, wondering that a way would, could be made
for my shredded heart, wounded spirit, yet it was revealed in His time.
Walking across on stones he spoke into place, Jesus, son of God, steps with me, gripping my hand.
I will never leave or forsake you He tells me. A Carpenter is He, yes, and a stone setter too.