An audience of one

I want to write for an audience of one.
I want to write love songs for you Lord
And paint the world with my words
I find it so hard to produce now
To show up and do the work.

You ask me 
“what do you want to do then Kat, how do you want to walk it forward?”   
and the truth is I just can’t see,
what that now gets to be.

But oh! How I see the vision.
And oh! How I know it is true
That everything you’ve prepared for me,
IS going to be made manifest in you.

The rolling plains, the lush green,
the nations taken, and the roaring mighty outflow of the Lord
through the voice of fire you have given me to CALL FORTH THE
LEADERS, TO WAKE AND SHAKE
THOSE ASSIGNED TO THE FRONTLINES
and to BE –

your walking epistle
vessel
and sword

I see it all and I believe it God, in fact I expect it, imminently, any day now, any day you call this day, and yet –

Not yet?
Or perhaps just –
not like that.

Because it’s not from the old ways
It’s no longer that old well
In which I dug and dug and dug
and really just scrounged for drops

desperately gathering condensation off the walls
and calling it flow when really – 
it was just the effects of the heat from my labor
and the moisture formed from striving, 
to be

Produce! Produce! And produce some more! 
POUR IT OUT AND KEEP GOING, 

was my refrain but really it was just a worship – 
to an audience of one and the one was me,
who longed to be and to prove
her right 
to do so.

Gifted? Anointed to write and to speak
and to dream, then to see
that dream made real?

THE WHOLE ENTIRE TIME.

The gifts are the gifts.
The call is the call.

But when it’s turned inward –

“I’m going to create myself by myself for myself and through myself!”

– oh what a mess
it can only become.

And the well just keeps going
The depths of satisfaction, fulfilment, joy, and creation
from pure and utter rest,
never be reached.

Because rivers of the living water are
not found
In the depths of your own soul.

So do I have a voice now God?
Is there anything I really should say?
Is it true that now is still to stay hidden,
the floodgates to open at some
far away other day,
than this?

Or is it simply that I’ve been
looking to that dried up old well
again,
old habits dying hard yet not quite – dead.

And I’ve been wondering in confusion why 
there’s not even a drop of water there now, 
not a single glimmer of flow to be found,
when the simple truth is I long ago – 

stopped striving
stopped labouring without you Lord, in the endless void so vain

and so the sweat and tears born of
trying to wring out enough of me to
in desperation finally believe I did it, I achieved the releasing
of my own gift and am thus,
allowed to be,

which produced a pitiful drip drip drip of SOMETHING
off those walls
is just no longer
there at all.

And yet meanwhile.

When I stop.

And incline my head once more to thee –

My prayer as once David’s was,
that I may seek your face and dwell
in your house 
FOREVER

I find the depths of your living water in me.

I feel your holy roar building.

I sense a groundswell of your fire and your flow.

And I find that all I need to do
all I ever needed to do
is to open my mouth and out,
it will pour.

So Lord continue your work in me.

Tear asunder what’s still not of you!

Send death to the grave where it belongs,

and BRING LIFE BACK UP.

As you make what you’ve written true through me,
to be so.

Let it be this simple Lord,
and again I give
my yes.