Taking Hold| Trusting in the Dark Days

Taking Hold| Trusting in the Dark Days

by Chanda Singleton Griesë


Blinding darkness, no stars,
No moon, no guide but the sound
Filling up and pouring out
And I hear it getting closer

Hand-in-hand, the bitter cold
My feet sinking in moistened sand
Edging toward the sound
I know it’s there, but where?

Too long, too dark, too bleak
My trembling hand holding on
 To His dependability

Are You pleased? Are You smiling at me?
Or looking down with furrowed brow,
Are You mad at me? I’ll have to see...
 
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