We are not a people of easy trust.
Our vernacular is not embedded with belief,
And kept promises are a foreign culture.
Broken promises have been our lot;
Daddies who hurt,
Mommies who leave,
Friends who abandon.
Even we Christians can name our own;
Churches that split,
Pastors who keep secrets,
And others who don’t keep ours.
We are fragile and unready to believe.
Promise broken after promise broken,
Believing seems a fool’s pursuit.
we have heard You called
the Promise Keeper.
And we’re desperately curious to know why.
We have heard of a promised heir lying on the altar,
And the sacrifice You provided instead.
We have heard of a promised rescue of a believing whore,
Hanging on a scarlet chord from her window.
We have heard of a promised land flowing with milk and honey,
And the desert worn path that led Your people home.
We have heard of another promise.
One we hardly dare whisper,
For fear it will slip from our lips with a shatter.
But it is a promise that You –
You, Yourself –
And in the dark night of waiting,
Against our best logic and with our last shred of hope,
We whisper, “we believe.”