Vagabonds

Lives have crumbled, dreams have faded. Hope has been trampled. Mercy and grace have been left for dead, love cast out. I am downtrodden. I am shaken.

Faith is losing its will to believe.

I am covered in dust, wandering. I have isolated myself and cut off all hope. I am a vagabond.

Weary I travel, feet dragging across the shattered, barren ground. Collapsing, I cannot go on. Tears trickle down my weary face, and fall onto the craggy ground.

Night falls. I slip into fitful slumber. Wolves howl. The moon is obscured by clouds. My dreams are haunting things: full of robbers and thieves, stealing my life and those I love.

I wake.

Slowly, I open my heavy eyes. Something has changed. Something cool lies underneath my body. Mist surrounds me. I struggle to my feet. Astonishment floods my foggy brain: grass has grown.

Like mercy floods a sinner forgiven, relief washes over my dry soul. Hope defeats despair. Love casts out fear.

I am still a vagabond, but my path is now paved by green, soft grass. Hope and love. Mercy and grace.

My feet step lightly, my heart soars. My soul is refreshed, my mind clear.

Thank you, God.