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. 
But …
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.
Promise kept.
We have heard of a promised rescue of a believing whore,
Hanging on a scarlet chord from her window.
Promise kept. 
We have heard of a promised land flowing with milk and
honey,
And the desert worn path that led Your people home.
Promise kept.
And …
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 - 
Will come. 
And in the dark night of waiting,
Against our best logic and with our last shred of hope,  
We whisper, “we believe.”
 
 
Thank you for this.
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