He laid me in a basket covered in tar made with the reeds by the water.

He brought me up in foreign lands under foreign kings with foreign gods.

I lived in exile in the wilderness and as a wanderer in the desert. I haven’t missed the sun rise in 80 years: shepherding sheep or leading people.

He spoke to me in the wilderness and He spoke to me in the desert.

All my excuses didn’t change the calling

All my weakness didn’t undo my anointing.

I opened my mouth, stumbling to speak, and He answered me.

My face became a vision of His presence.

I’m an alien, living with a radical calling, in a dry land with plenty of water.

There’s an oasis in the dessert.

A waterfall flowing into the pools below.

Catch the water as it falls

But don’t renew my mistakes.

See His glory, See His power

Then move from sitting in His presence to fighting for His Kingdom.

The promise is looking to be fulfilled:

When the presence overflows from the prayer closets to the front lines,

Collecting territory not manna.

I missed out and saw one last time, the land that flowed with production and blessing.

I died in comfort but you will die with the harvest of nations.

Cross over that river.

Cross over to the other side.

Leave behind the sand and the heat

But keep His presence.

You are called; You are chosen.

Its not desert season any longer.