On the other end of the line.

She found her voice
In an empty can
Rattling string tied
To the other end
Hello hey hi
The other by her ear
And a gentle echo
Of former tears. 

She laid dormant 
While others cried aloud 
A simple sonnet silenced
A whisper in a crowd
A bellow from below
Beneath the feet of giants
An yet it echoed still
In wonder and defiance. 

A metaphor
A melody
An anecdote of sadness
Turn wildly
And wonderfully 
By God’s reply
Into gladness. 

Hope 
From a place
We call
“Seemingly nowhere”
All else
Left unravelled
Past failure
Left threadbare.

His words
Chimed back
At her laments 
And her groanings 
“Be still my child.”
Stopping her still
In these moments.

My child.
My child.
One with a tin can phone
With a God on 
The other line
That won’t leave her alone.

Incessant presence
Inerrant words
Allows her to feel seen
And her dear heart heard.

She puts her tin cans aside
And grabs out the hula
They wiggle down hillsides
In His presence she feels fuller.

They hopscotch 
And skip
And through life they giggle. 
As a child of God
There’s joy in the middle. 

This season
That season
All tribulations
All trials
She need only grab
Her tin can line
And chat with Him
A while.