I don't know that we have to
come to love the rain
apart from the consolation
of the patter on the umbrella
and its fortifying rooftop rhythm
I think that's what peace sounds like
The Person who endlessly rolls
out his love as a refuge
and then meets us under it
to brush our hair off our face
with His own hand
and affectionately
smooth strays behind eager
yet sometimes selective ears
Not that he can't see us
but because He wants us
to know that He does
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He who planted the ear, does He not hear? He who formed the eye, does He not see? Psalm 94:9
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