Is there no Balm in Gilead*
for this parched existence of mine?
Is there no well to feed my soul
no place to rest this weary mind?
Have I been forgotten in this wilderness
where on hands and knees I crawl?
Untilled is the land, wasted sand
cotton-mouthed, shriveled and lonely
there isn’t even a mirage of an oasis
to quench this thirst, this hunger, this madness.

“Come.”

Who said that? Where are you?
Show yourself to me!

“Come.”

Time stands still, dust continues to blow
the quiet is too much to bear
I must know…

“Come. Little one you thirst.
Drink from My hand and I
will satisfy your every need.”

A vision of His nail-scarred wrist
Fingers reaching to my lips
Upon my knees I freely took
of His outstretched hand and understood
Within His care, within His Words
are life abundant and even more.
Should I crave what this world can give
my life is empty, desolate, arid
But when I seek the Lord, His beautiful face
lay my burdens down before His feet
When I surrender all, my everything
the things I craved are a different need
More of Him, less of me
He is my oasis, my healing, my rain.