How Long Will Souls in Sorrow Slumber?
rainy day reflections and a pilgriming poet's prayers
Rainclouds billow upon earth's wiles, Whose empty charm delights, beguiles The fleeting fancy of man's folly, Thus, mourns the sky with melancholy. I sit beneath this bitter bower, Upon the roof, within this shower, And gaze upon the quiet village, Which slumbers 'neath the sorrow's spillage. And I ask Him, "How long will souls sleep, While all Thy earth about them weeps?" Wondering why He wakens not, Those whose slumber is their lot, Grief-struck, I ask, "O Friend of Mine, Won't You awaken hearts this time?" But still souls sleep and still earth weeps. His answer, through the stillness, leaks, "I have not forgotten, if that's what you mean. I linger within, above, between, All the brokenness you want redeemed. And ebbing through the pleas you pray, Are words I taught your soul to say." So here I sit 'neath screaming rain, Waiting till sleepers wake to Day- “Still the Souls Sleep, Still the Earth Weeps”
There’s something heavy about concerning yourself with lost souls.
Lately, I’ve been feeling the weight of it. I don’t know how to write about it in a way that does it justice, truthfully. There’s always a dull ache, like the lingering aroma of a bitter grief from years ago. Lately, though, the ache has been heavier, sharper.
What do you do when the souls you pray for still sleep?
Yesterday, I read through my prayer journals—pages and pages of scribbled pleas for salvation, stirrings, soft soil, soothed souls. Every page lists the names of lost friends and loved ones and tribes…people who slumber still. Every page bears a prayer for their awakening, a plea for the Daylight.
And I can’t help wondering…how many more pages, Lord?
How many more pens will run out of ink before the prayers turn to praise? How many more lines will run out before they are filled with something new, something bright? How many more days? How many more prayers?
How long will souls in sorrow slumber?
Yesterday, I went to visit with one of these dear, unsaved friends. Zara is one of the names often brought up in my prayers; now that I’m moving away, and my time with her is running out, the prayers are growing more urgent.
Before I went to meet with her, I sat in the car for a long while, waiting with the Father in silence. Finally, I said, “Won’t you let it be today? She has heard so many times. Won’t you let the soil be tender today? How long will her soul in sorrow slumber?”
His answer wasn’t exactly a response, but a lingering—like a friend who quietly sits with you in your grief instead of spilling out words.
Nothing happened that day. No new curiosities stirred in Zara’s slumbering soul. No daylight broke through the night.
When I returned home, I went to the roof. It was rainy and the whole village seemed to slumber beneath the sorrows of earth’s shower. It was there that I mentally pieced together the poem above, aching with the sky.
Once more, I asked Him, “How long will souls in sorrow slumber?”
This time, the answer came: “Any answer I give, you would not understand. Divine scheduling seems foolish to men.”
He let the words settle, let the weight fill my mind. He let me remember that I was the human, He was the Divine…that His ways are higher than any of mine.
Then, He spoke again. “You don’t really wonder when I will awaken these souls. You wonder if I will. You wonder if I have forgotten.”
I sat there a while more, let the words do their work while the sky’s last tears fell.
When, at last, light broke through, it came from night’s first star. I smiled at the glow which was still not the Day, but peaked in through darkness’ veil anyway. Then, I came down from the roof, joined my family for dinner, washed the dishes, played piano, kissed my little sister goodnight.
Before I went to bed, I talked to Him again.
I know my ways are not Your own and I hardly understand. But I will ask You anyway, ‘Lord, let it be today.’ Because I trust, one day, I will whisper, ‘birth something anew’ and, lo, my eyes will open to a flower in bloom.
How long will souls in sorrow slumber?
I don’t really know.
But Heaven does and so, I trust, He remembers those who sleep. Maybe one day souls will wake and find the Day they seek.
Anyone who says that nothing good is written in poetry or prose these days needs to read this post.
This is stunning