Monday, August 27, 2012

The Valley of Dry Bones

I know this girl who has been rung hard
and left to dry on a line out back
and more than a few days have passed
with her hanging there
There are tatters at the end of her shirtsleeves
and her pant cuffs are as stiff as death
There has been no rain for months and yet
her listless flower head still lifts sheepishly every morning
looking for the sun

It is Love that longs to cut her from that noose
and have her fall, bones and all
to the dirt below
where the dust would fly and blind and choke
and then settle
down within the crevices cracked and brittle

I have heard of this valley of bones
that is dry as death and
where shadows creep among the once living
this place echoes empty
with the unheard cries of brokenness
no one lives in this place where
the thick black waves rise up from the dirt
painting thick mirages of seas long Dead

If only a wind would blow across this barren hole
where the forgotten lie in one big hopeless heap
from four corners a holy breath could whisper
and there would be a mighty clanking of
bones brought up from the nothingness
That would be a mighty day
if those dry bones rose up
and danced back home


  1. your words express a longing, faithful hope. beautiful indeed. I think I have known this girl more than once, personally deeply. And the dry bones raised back up and danced a merry jig back home....back home to a place of peace.

  2. that is my prayer, Elizabeth, that the dry bones of which I spoke would find their way home

    1. This is my prayer also. These dry bones need recharged for sure. Your poem made me feel so melancholy. The weather today doesn't help that either. I love the way you right.

  3. Lovely symmetry. A very enjoyable read as I woke up this morning with coffee.

  4. I lost my Dad suddenly on Thurs. In four months we have lost my Grandad, and my husband's parents too.
    I have had depression for the past 18 yrs on and off and have been off work since Good Friday.
    I am that girl.
    I look at my Father and find it hard to believe these bones can live.
    I wrote about it in my blog which I'm not clever enough to put a link to.
    It's on Blogger. Earth is crammed with heaven. The problem with being a preacher.
    Thanks for this.

    1. Oh Karen,
      I am so very sorry for your unbelievable loss in such a short time. I read your piece on your blog and your pain was palpable. But so was your faith. Sometimes it seems that our faith only exists because we say it does and sometimes, I think that is enough. You know, in your head, that God is real and present and working but you feel like the girl hung up on the line out back. I respect your desire to practice what you preach but I respect your honesty even more. Your dear family is, and will continue to be, in my prayers.

  5. Holly,

    There are great depths to be mined here that cannot be discovered in a single read. I look forward to coming back and pondering it all again.


    1. Eyvonne,
      I hope you will come back and I would love to hear your thoughts when you do.
      Thank you friend.

  6. Oh, Holly. Thank you for this.

  7. Annie,
    Thank you for reading! I'm honored to have you here.