‘…if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.’

2 Chronicles 7 v 14

Darkness descends, unfurling his cloak of fear,
In shifting shadows of uncertainty.
Lines of normality, drawn indistinct on the horizon,
Hopes and dreams stretched out to vanishing point.
Doubt swoops in on silent wings,
Snatching away our little faith.
Vision obscured by clouds of sheer confusion
Which seldom melt away with the morning.
Anguish, gripping with unbidden fingers,
Stifles joy and peace in stranglehold.
Objects of love, perishing before eyes filled with tears
While helpless hands hang limp in soft surrender.
Guilt and shame, things left unspoken or undone,
Linger in the recesses of overcrowded pasts.
Loneliness seeps in on icy draughts of isolation,
Extinguishing the warmth of home and hearth.
Questions, rising fresh with each new dawn,
Reach for reassurance as for a robe.
Hope, still out of sight, not yet abandoned,
Resists all invitations to draw near.

Prayers ascend, like wisps of incense, to the heavenly throne;
Tiny, timid, nervous they approach.
Creeping doubts and questions taint the air.
Will heaven’s censers fill with such as these?
Heaven casts its eye upon the earth,
Searching for mustard-seeds of faith in Kingdom soil,
Growing to maturity by streams of living water,
Producing prayer in season for eternity.
The One who formed and looks upon each heart
Seeks lives renewed, finding their purpose in the Son,
Whose light, above the clouds, shines ever brightly,
Attained on angels’ wings and Spirit groans.
Rays burst through with every whispered plea,
While bowls of incense shatter all around,
The scents of sacrifice and intercession,
The Lover and the loved so closely bound.
Sweet communion, overflowing cups of joy and peace and thankfulness,
Spill over to a dry and thirsty land,
Watering each shrivelled shoot of small belief
And pouring fresh forgiveness from the Father’s hand.
Hope returns, with all the power of resurrection,
To lift the heads of those once bowed so low,
Shining from the face of Christ, the Saviour,
To bring Him glory in each new tomorrow.

Jeannie Frith

6th April 2020