The Woman in the Water

I have a poem today, but I have a couple of thoughts before you read it. I was checking Bloglines today, and one of the blogs that I "subscribe" to is written by Beth Quick. She had a post up earlier today, which I can't find now, which talked about feeling unworthy of salvation. Don't we all feel that way sometimes? Not "good enough" to reach toward God.

The post sent my mind into the direction which produced this poem. The woman in the water is not me, but pieces of me, as I think she is pieces of all of us. I suspect we all feel that way sometimes -- unworthy of grace. We all feel that way, because we all are that way. Thank God for grace.

She was drowning.
The water slapped against her chin.
Her feet did not reach the ground,
If there were even a solid footing
Beneath the water.

She was tired of treading water.
It was black, dark, oily.
She couldn’t see past the surface to herself anymore.
She wasn’t even sure who she was anymore.
She kept treading water.

She was alone in the darkness
Alone with her fear.
Surely no one else had ever felt this isolated.
She suffered the oily water to sink into her skin.
She felt its slickness.
She would die.

A hand reached out to her
From the overcast sky.
She saw the face
Heard the voice.

Take my hand, child, I will save you.

His eyes were full of knowledge.
She could see herself reflected there,
And knew that He knew her.
What she couldn’t know
Was that he saw himself in her eyes.

Take my hand, my child.

No.
Look at me. I’m covered.
I’m can’t touch you.
I’m wet.

I know, my child. That’s why I’m reaching for you.