Touching wetly
The voice echoes in my head: Come!
Come to where living defies limitations;
to this improbable arena where the divine
work of yearning and weeping awaits.
My feet touch wetly this strange and yielding
interface between faith and fear. Look,
I am walking upon the waters!
The Master’s expectations have driven me
from my cautious comfort
to this challenging place
of expensive love and grace
where human fruitfulness
begins to mirror divine purpose.
Ah, that I could stay boldly
here, among the faithful and the reckless;
but my fears betray my feet,
and baptism’s drowning adjusts its metaphor
as waves of anxious uncertainty
reach up to swallow my bravado.
Returned with diminished dignity
to the sympathetic glances of my companions
in our boat of refuge, I soddenly shiver
and resolutely regather my courage;
knowing that when the voice calls again
I shall once more step most foolishly onto the sea.
Ken Rookes
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