Sitting on the edge.
Ready to jump.
Oh Jesus, the rushing of water, the flooding of emotion, the conflict of hope and fear.
Of excitement and finger tip tingling.
I want to step forward.
I want to jump.
But this cliff, this edge, is firm. And steady. And the same.
Jesus, what a view of You I have here. How much of you I see.
High up here.
At least it seems like I do. But part of me is held out.
Stalled.
Waiting.
Fingers tingling scared varying anticipation.
Oh God.
Hear my chaotic heart. All it knows here on this cliff is Your name. How huge Your name is.
How loud my cry. How much it echoes on this cliff.
Standing on the edge.
My feet feel steady. Firm. With roots planted.
But my toes are wiggling. Starting the movement to my body from my already longing, antsy, READY, soul.
Your soul speaks, Jesus.
Steady.
Breaths in.
Wrinkled faces flash from the morning. Faces etched with the pen of pain.
Jesus, they need Your script. Story writing all over their life.
I look down at my own wrinkled hands. Ready to be touched. To touch.
I breathe in.
Your love.
Your steady.
Ready?
The toe wiggle moves.
Grows.
My fingers dance.
Waiting to let loose the longing.
On this cliff.
Ready to move.
Jump.
