My son, my son, a mouthpiece I have chosen.
A messenger to a foreign land.
A barren land. A wind swept land.
Who will receive My message?

Even though they attack you on all sides,
Fire flaming arrows at your door.
I am your rock and your fortress,
An impenetrable, unscaleable mountain.

Stand on the foundation I have built for you.
I will shield you from howling winds.
I will be your strength.
Your voice will echo over the plains.

Sit down and write a new scroll,
A new word I will give you.
I will heal your wounds - renew your mind.
Search for me and I will surely speak to you.

The Lord of Hosts is my Name.

You who lay down in the dust before Me,
Stand now, and walk before Me.
The plain is wide and the way is long,
But I, the Lord, will nourish you - I will refresh you.

Take nothing with you - I will provide!
But wrap your mantle around you.

Isaiah 58:11-14, 59:17

© 28/9/1994 Peter Taekema