Battlefield

This barren land....

Desolate and wasted. How I long for the day of revival.

It seems so far way, revival, seems almost intangible. I can't even see it in the distance. Maybe cause its not something we should be able to foretell? Who knows but God. He's the only forecaster of such relevant glory.

I'm grieved whenever I walk out onto the wasteland. My eyes catching glimpses of bones and dirt--bones and dirt. But here in my own little wastelandic podunk of a community I seem to have forgotten my travail. I've forgotten the sway and cry of my rain dance. I almost forgot that this land too is barren. I no longer cried out for the rainfall amidst a season of drought. I left the tears to someone else, but it seems....no one else is crying. No one else is weeping, the sackcloth still hangs and no one has taken claim. Will I be held accountable for my lack of fire? Why haven't I spread to make the ground fertile again? I so desperately wanted to be the tree that flourishes in the middle of the desert, but I had forgotten that I need to have roots before my branches can grow. The valley is filled with dry bones awaiting their word of life. And yet my mouth has been sealed, and I have forgotten to cry. If my tears are the only way this land will be watered, then let it be. If the sweat of my brow is the only way this land will be tilled, then let it be. If my feet are dry and cracked from walking a mile in the shoes of those in need, then let be. And if my knees are bruised and bleeding from too much kneeling and too much travail--LET IT BE. 

Revival--LET IT BE!!