Israel, My Thoughts

Come, Israel, wandering host of my mind,
you scatter like dust across the desert wind.
One voice cries famine, another thirst,
and still another trembles with fear of the worst.

But I call you by name—
Israel, prince of thoughts,
the many that wrestle within me.
Do not flee from my gaze.
I walk among you slowly,
tender in each step,
binding up the wounded,
quieting the loud.

Here a thought of anger—
I lay my hand and it softens.
Here a thought of shame—
I lift it, as one lifts a child.
Here a thought of hope—
I fan its flame until it burns steady.

Israel, I gather you,
thread by thread,
into one woven cloth.
No longer a clamour,
but a chorus.
No longer a wilderness,
but a garden watered.

And at last you speak with one voice,
not scattered but whole:
“I AM.”.