I look beyond the window
Of the house wherein I dwell.
I long to dance upon the moss,
Drink water from the well,
Engage in conversation
With the children playing there.
But my longing turns to tears
As I breathe this stuffy air.
This room with four square corners
That I know is not my call.
Why must I then be stuck here
While outside Autumn falls?
With all that is within my heart,
I want to self-combust.
I raise my fist to break that pane.
One whispered syllable: "Trust."
Angrily, I shake my fist
"But now, NOW is my time!"
And out of frustration
I sit to pout and whine.
But the still, small voice just waits
For me to settle down.
Then speaks in tones so gentle,
"I'm not trying to keep you bound.
I don't want you to bust the window,
But that doesn't mean You're doomed.
I only want to protect You.
Broken windows badly wound.
I'll open it up in my timing;
Child, soon you will fly free
And do those things I made you for,
But for now, please trust in Me.
I can't tell you what I'm planning;
It must be a surprise.
But when I do it that sight out the window
Will be too glorious for your eyes."
I look beyond the window
Of the house wherein I dwell
And the excitement builds within me.
As I know this: All is well.
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To read the Oregon Journey blog post that corresponds with this poem, go HERE.
