Waiting

Waiting


When he's gone,
I wander, lost.
You see? He anchors my soul.
I'm not myself.
I feel alone.
It's odd. I just don't feel whole.

I miss his touch.
I crave his kiss.
His look, that says I belong.
I want his arms,
to wrap me up.
So tight, but gentle, yet strong.

Come home to me,
my only one.
My love, I miss you so.
Stay here with me.
Don't ever leave.
Sweetheart, when you're here, I'm home.



Andrea Johnson

copyright 2009

The Rose.

As I was walking down a bust street, lost in my own dark thoughts, I turned left into a hidden garden. Surprised, I decided to explore. Walking along, I was captured by a fragrance.

As I followed my nose, I saw it there,

a simple rose, just one small bloom, growing silently in the sun.

It sweetly called to me with colors waiting to be explored.

The rose was edged in red, fading to pink, lightly washed to a soft cream,

and then sparking to a sunny, pale yellow in the center.

I studied the rose, captivated by it's beauty.

After memorizing the frail beauty, and feeling, somehow, transported to a dream world, I began to notice all the other roses.

Each one, different, special and unique in color and fragrance,

all so silently full of beauty and promise.

As I contemplated the beauty and different-ness of each rose,

I began to notice that there were faces in the flowers.

Faces of children, full of promise and their own dreams,

fragranced with hope and shining with talents yet to be discovered,

with purposed beyond what we dream for them, and love and sweetness in each petal.

What an amazing, precious gift, seeing the children in each rose!

As I came way from the garden, wandering back out into the busy streets, weaving my way among the people, I realized that God have given me an even more precious gift.

The ability to see the "Rose" in each person. To see their secret beauty, to smell the fragrance of hidden hopes and cherished dreams inside eah heart, no matter what the outside revealed.

It humbled and filled my own heart with an overflowing love and gratefulness.

With shining eyes, I wended my way home, never the same.

Look this day, at each person in your own garden and see the hidden rose.

Something that I wrote a while ago and was thinking about. When I wrote this, hoestly it was just a pretty story inspired by a picture of a rose that Duane had taken for me. But lately, it's almost biographal. My Father has labored with love to show me that He sees a "Rose" in me and is asking me, over and again to see the same in other people. No matter how ugly or hateful they may be, Gos is asking me to love them and see them through His eyes, not my own. He's done so very much for me, redeeming me out of such a mess that, how can I disobey and still call myself His child?

I can't! I won't! For those that have been forgiven much, love much!