Thirst

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Thirst
Mary Oliver

Another morning and I wake with thirst for the goodness I do not have. I walk out to the pond and all the way God has given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord, I was never a quick scholar but sulked and hunched over my books past the hour and the bell; grant me, in your mercy, a little more time. Love for the earth and love for you are having such a long conversation in my heart. Who knows what will finally happen or where I will be sent, yet already I have given a great many things away, expecting to be told to pack nothing, except the prayers which, with this thirst, I am slowly learning.

As I slid my way to work out this morning, 16 degrees outside, windchill of God knows what, I sighed thirsting for spring.

The news reports that 10 years ago bombs blew over Baghdad. Ten years. I wonder what heroic stories of death and grief are known only by God. I sighed thirsting for peace.

This Sunday begins a seven day journey. It begins with parade of ironic joy. It tells of a people thirsting for peace under an oppressed regime. Will the crowd ever learn? Will the story be different this year? Will they see who they have in front of them? Will we ever learn?

I fear the only way we will learn, is that he will go to the cross again. I always wish the story were different. That somehow he could be protected. But that is not the case. We in the crowd still cannot see him for who He is. We are slow learning. It is only through our thirst for peace and our acknowledgement of death that the resurrection can come and the love we so desperately need can be poured out for us.

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