silent August night
the words I'd long held
surged out in whisper;
almost as though rustle
of the forests' oak leaves
bid the truth be told;
"I am so afraid."

words of truth, air-suspended,
softened by tender-rounded moon,
sparkled on by a million stars.
suddenly night seemed so bright.

the wind that rustled oak leaves
was wind moving through me.
the tiny trickling stream
was bidding me to kneel,
to be humble-poor before Holy,
to lay my overwhelming fear
in gentle, outstretched arms.

oh, for a moment, swept up in God,
stilled, awed, and quieted.

this Presence is Holy, Holy, Holy.

God has taken my fearful heart
and wrapped it in deep Love.

Excerpted from Fresh Bread by Joyce Rupp. Copyright 1985 by Ave Maria Press, Notre Dame IN 46556. Used with permission of the publisher. This book is available from the publisher (1-800-282-1865) or at your local religious bookstore.