His last few days, his last few jobs.
That chair, and the damaged roof across the way.
Maybe one or two unexpected walk-ins,
folk discovering sudden emergencies.
And then he’ll by up and out of here,
not heading off exploring foreign lands,
not running away like some prodigal,
not going in search of himself.
These years messing about and playing with friends,
making things and paying taxes,
witnessing that which is wrong and right,
these things have all helped him
to grow up and know himself.
Now for his rite of passage,
a journey within and without himself,
a letting go of power and self-assertion,
A discovery of that which really changes things,
that which really blesses the world.
A trek into the wilderness so he may hear
the tender voice of his father.
He glances over at his lunch, that bread,
then at the daylight seeping through the door,
there’s a whisper on the breeze.
Life is waiting, his father is waiting, the desert awaits.
Hosea 2 v 14
‘I will lead them out into the desert and speak tenderly to them there.’