Psalms 137 to 126
Day after day, we would sit by the rivers of the present, forlorn and lost in daydreams and wistful memories of the past.
We remembered all we have been taught; stories we have heard, virtues to hold dear, songs we have sung- sweet music and beautiful melodies. Joy dried up in our bones, our hearts choked with emotions and tears freely coursed down our faces.
We shared, soliloquised, mused, ranted, dreamed, tear-ed up and prayed. We saw ourselves free; free to live, free to love, free to have dreams and high expectations, free to be (all that we were made to be).
With longings for the days of plenty, we fantasized about overflowing vats and brimming barns, honeycombs and rich corn. We had reveries of family gatherings, ringing laughter and children’s squeal of joy.
Strangers shared glad tidings from lands afar, several others around us popped celebratory wine and broke merry bread. But we silently panted for hearts to sing and make merry, for surely, this is not all there is to us: We shall have His promises take on flesh in us too?
We would sit, not for an affinity for nature, nor overwhelming love for the beauty of the gliding mass of liquid that refused to sweep along with its tides, our massing miseries.
The waters have a freedom we only dared to hope for; its majestic expanse invites, flirts, caresses, refreshes and energises. harbinger of life, it is unassuming in peace, but formidable in wrath. We wished for a life similar to its.
disadvantage point, we remembered not just the glitters and gores of a past gone by but we dreamt of the future that may never be.
At the (present) shore, we remembered and dreamt.
Remember: Past Faithfulness
Dream: beautiful future
Strolling in the alley of miseries and darkened shadows of death’s hangout, we dared to hope, we dared to believe, we dared to dream. Oh, how we dreamt! season in-season out, we did, but nothing seemed to change.
Our backsides burned abiding imprints in the sands of the shore and surrounding low hills.
We sang the ‘kumbaya’-equivalent and our stooped, meditative stance invited curious glances and parties of pity.
Some drew near, questioned us, grieved with us, but still, could not help us; others’ mocking shrieks of laughter haunted our sleepless nights.
You would please understand why we had to pinch ourselves, slap our own cheeks, rub our eyes and do double takes just to be sure…
For when the Lord turned around history, when the pains left and the lines fell into brilliant places, it looked too much like our dreams! Our endless riverside dreams- drenched in tears and sorrowful melodies, an eulogy of stolen innocence, shattered hope, botched plans, lost purpose, interrupted happily-ever-afters and incapacitated visions.
Dreams written in agonizing tears but cast in joy, hatched in the dark of night but screened in the light of day. Produced at the dusk of draining hope, and premiered in the dawn of new beginnings; our secret (night) songs taken up by a heavenly choir.
It was our dream come-to-life but we almost could not believe it. Our fortunes were restored but much more, a new beginning heralded. The awesome things we heard of became our experience and our experience became others’ desire.
We pinch-slapped and blinked, called and texted, IM’ed and DM’ed, asked passers-by to double check… and eventually, we confirmed and accepted that it was reality afterall.
Our hearts burst within us in amazement and laughter spilled forth from us like the waterfalls.
From our hearts, it filled our mouths, our souls, our environments and even the cloud above us was precipitated with joyous laughter.
We took down our hung harps and cloven tongues… we sang and the nations were bewildered. Our preciously borne seeds, sown in tears have doubtless become glorious sheaves which we joyfully bear- along with this report: “The Lord has done great things for us, wherefore we are glad!”