This poem was shaped by personal experience.  In my small group this past year, we studied a book called, “Can You Hear Me” by Brad Jersak.  One of the chapters was about finding a “meeting place” with God.  This was the chapter we were studying while I was on vacation, lying on a beach in Jamaica. Three and a half years ago I went through breast cancer, and one of the realities is that I now have a scar from the centre of my chest, across my left side, to my armpit.  God used that surgery, and my past experience, to show Himself to me in a very unique way.  While contemplating this chapter, I envisioned my chest opening up like a tent, and God and I meeting in what looked like the hollow of a tree.  Without having experienced cancer, I don’t think my thoughts would have developed in this exact way …

Of note: Psalm 42:7 uses the word “waterspout”.  When I googled waterspout, I saw an image of a funnel from the water/sea to the sky.  I used this idea as an image of God drawing us to Himself.

And: As we know, the ocean is too salty to drink. Our tears are salty as well. An interesting thought came to me. Perhaps God, who is not bound by time, has emptied the countless tears of His saints, from the bottles He stores them in.  And this is now our ocean …

Inside of me there is a space, some call it a soul
I name it “meeting place”, or “tree hollow home”

A stream runs outside, yet I feel parched and alone
Where are you Lord, Waterspout? And when will you come?

Hecklers jeer over the sound of the waves
Sad, salty tears become my meat, day after day

The first hours every week I venture out by the stream
With multitudes of seekers, and voices of praise

But my soul remains downcast and longing for Peace
I conjure up hope, though He knows dust is my frame

Waterspout, Saviour, restore spiritual health with Thee
Though I know communion is not full till I am free

By day, I see Waterspout’s Lovingkindness to all
And by night, He sings melodious ripples of the Sea

I pray to Waterspout, Help me Oh Rock of my soul
Store my tears in the bottle of Your ocean tears

My bones are all broken, my foes taunt and tease
I drift from the stream to the place where You raise

My meeting place pulled high through the funnel of Great Love
Blessed foresight of adoption, Hope of Salvation, communion with God

A response to Psalm 42