The 500

500 or more
They stand
Strong and silent
By the flowing river
Of the Water of Life.
Their feet curl along the edge
Careful not to touch the crystal Water
For fear.
Of What?
Of giving in
To the tide of purity that sweeps over all?
To the water of life that answers every thirst?
They know in their heads
But not in their hearts
They see with their eyes
But not with their spirits.

Instead of joining the great flow
They resist.
Unwilling to give
Themselves to
The only Truth there is.
Pride holds them fast
Firmly rooting them in place
Along the dusty banks of life
Pursuing but never finding–
Even though it is right there,
All along.

Some dip their feet in
And splash around
Happy to have found
Some semblance of

Just a very few
Throw themselves in.
With abandon,
Never turning back.
They drink deeply of the Waters
They breathe it in,
Filling every thirsty crevice.
They turn to beckon their friends,
Joyfully urging them to taste and see
That the Lord is Good.
To drink from the well that never runs dry.

Guided and invited
The 500 come,
Inching forward
Still Afraid.
But buoyed by Hope
That friends profess:
The Water is sweet
There is a Gracious plenty.
Come and enjoy
True life.
Drink from the Source.


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