I linger and hope in anticipation
That someone will stop and see me, know me.
I go in, I go out, with the Sunday Tide.
I know, I know, this ebb and flow
that pulls me and lulls me.
Showing the highs and lows of my faith,
Rocking safe, in a shallow pool of isolation.
I’m a familiar stranger in this House of Tides
Where I join the Migration of Souls.
Where I come in and go out in the Sunday Tide.
I turn, washed out into my week-day world,
Where I find the Lord in the daily cares that carry me.
The daily snares, that bring me to my knees.
Comforted in knowing, that I’m not really alone,
And His Word lifts me to His throne.
Yet once again, the Sunday tide comes in.
It pulls me out of my weekly world and brings me to this house of tides.
Where I linger, waiting, hoping, for what I do not know.
Why do I join this Migration of Souls?
This Sunday tide?
Where I smile and say,
knowing there is less
And less of me to see.
I wrote this many years ago after spending a decade at a church where no one really saw me. I remember standing in the atrium watching people moving around me like I was a rock on the beach and they were the tide. When I left I joked that the only one who knew I was gone was the bookkeeper who processed my tithes. It is important to be in a good church and now I am in a place that not only knows my name but seeks me out when I am gone. That is a wonderful thing when the Sunday tide brings me into a family that loves the Lord but also loves people too.
via Daily Prompt: Tide