Today’s author is Prince of Peace member, Debbie Jorgens.

Not long ago, I happened to come upon a young, gifted poet whose name is Emily Ruth Hazel. The following is an excerpt from her poem, “Word of Mouth.” I found the entire poem breathtakingly beautiful and encourage you to read it in its entirety. You can find it here.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

For the moment, your mouths are parched;

you beg for water, finding none.

But I won’t leave you thirsty.

I am the one who knows your need

before the word is on your tongue.

As surely as the sun rises, I will appear;

as surely as the spring rains come,

after winter, I will come to you.

I will open up rivers on the barren hills,

the heights of desolation;

I will change nature’s course

and break the laws of gravity for you.

I will make springs flow in the valleys,

turn the desert into pools of water.

Instead of stumbling into poison ivy,

you will find the cooling balm of aloe.

Instead of toiling like Adam

after exile from Eden,

only to force thorns and thistles from the ground—

instead of a briar patch of curses

to claw your way out of, torn and bleeding—

instead, you’ll discover a field of blessing,

orchards and vineyards,

gardens overflowing with flowers.

Where only scraggly desert scrub would grow,

myrtle will flourish—each fragrant, white blossom

exploding with beauty, pollen-dusted stamens

shooting from the center like a spray of light.

Myrtle will cure your infections,

clear the airways so you can breathe again,

protect the lining of your health

so easily eaten away by anxiety.

In the wilderness through which you’ve walked

I will cultivate promise.

With my bare hands

I will uproot the thorn bushes,

and in their place plant strong and stately trees:

cypress, to stand as thousand-year testimonies,

green through all the seasons;

olive and acacia; sweet-smelling juniper and pine;

redwoods towering in majesty,

drawing your eyes to me.

Cedars and sequoias will thrive,

evidence of transformation

in what was once a wasteland.

I will write my name across this new creation

just as I have inscribed your hearts,

so that everyone may know

whose work it is—that I, God,

am the one who has accomplished this,

who has bent impossibility backwards

like a wire coat hanger,

reviving the landscapes of your lives.

Those who know you

will recognize the change. Even strangers

will come to you with questions,

seeing in you the spark of the Spirit.

As the snow that slowly descends

the escalator of the sky

and does not ascend again

until there is a thaw; and as the rain

that showers the earth does not evaporate

before it soaks in, trickles down

below the surface, and waters the deepest roots;

so the words of my mouth go out to the people

in every part of the world—winged words

sent out like homing pigeons,

tiny scrolls tied around their ankles.

They cannot land without leaving

an impression in the sand,

and they will not return to me

without delivering the message of hope.

My promises are never void;

backed by the treasury of heaven,

the checks I write will never bounce.

And wherever you are,

my words will run ahead of you

to open the door when you arrive.

From my lips to your ears,

this is news to quench your soul,

an invitation to be passed on. This is grace—

not something you can buy bottled,

but something to be shared,

a cupful at a time.

And as a paper cup that holds cold water

is passed from hand to hand,

these words are for you,

the thirsty ones sitting in the back.