When the Night Broke Open

A reflection on wandering, finding, and being found — inspired by Psalm 107.

Nowhere could you find me, and I dimly wondered,

chasing fragments and euphonious dances,

forgetting the drip of my name.

But You,

You found me as You strode through stars.

You spoke, and the night broke wide open.

You spelled me Your love,

when all I knew was how to shower dismissals.

Nowhere could I find You striking light while You guided me.

But by listening to spinning ponds and sailing streams,

I knew the giggling wonders of kaleidoscopes.

Even when the waves dipped low and shot up wild,

You murmured while caressing my trembling heart.

During each eased night, an unconventional dawn would string the sky with soft, hidden promises—

And while I feasted on honey from digressed flowers,

You coddled me with unending grace,

pouring forth, piece by piece,

engraving faith on my once blank canvas.

You set missions into my body,

and lifted my spirit into marvel lands,

where we glimpsed brush-strokes scattered across the dust.

You made room for breath among glassed dew,

etched warmth into spiraling mirrors,

and etched me becoming.

You paved smooth waves with Kairos time,

quietly guiding my soul through wood and wrath and wonder.

For I as well have navigated the endless oceans,

exchanged dread for faith in trusting waters;

and like those who go down to the sea in ships,

who do business on the great waters,

I have seen the works of the Lord,

and His wondrous deeds in the deep.