by Darlene Young
Selfish, I've been this week,
peevish and small.
Fearful, I've been, and cold,
doubting and weak.
Now, though, I come to thee with my head down
ready to try again, humble and meek.
Thirsty, I come to thy
Dusty, my mouth,
barren, my soul.
I long for thy voice and its gentle reproach:
water of life that washes me whole.
Dear Lord, I thank thee
for thy sacrifice,
that to my parched soul
can come cleansing rain.
This sacrament quenches the thirst in my heart.
With courage, I'll face the dry world again.
. . .
And here is a link to the evening I wrote about, which shows the true reason for the event, I suppose.