Stories at Bedtime

Oh my child, have you lit the lamp tonight?
The desert winds howl and moan
as they stretch nimble fingers
and whip the tents.
Our enemy prowls.
Have you lit the lamp tonight?

Did you see the pillar, my child?
The pillar of cloud or fire?
It moves and we move.
We move where it moves,
following on ever-lasting foot-leather
over rock and dust,
past sunning lizard and slithering snake,
to the waters where love
makes bitterness into sweet pools
to cool weary brows.

They say that He is in the pillar, my child.
Yes, they say it's true.
They shiver and quiver and shake
when He speaks with thunderclap,
but I have heard Him whisper.
I have heard His voice
as I watch you sleep,
your eyes folded like praying hands.
He whispers, "As you love this child,
so I love you, and him too. Do not fear
when My glory moves to places strange
to eyes too used to Egypt's gleam.
Other wonders have I prepared for you.
Believe Me, and you will see."

So we light the lamp of welcome
to our God, the lamp of light
in thick darkness, to push
away the taint of slavery,
to say to the night,
"You shall not cause our feet
to stumble. Surely God
guides us ever, steady on."

And now sleep, my child.
God sings over us in our slumber
and makes us safe as we rest.
Sleep, and believe. For the pillar
will move, and follow it
we will—the glory of our Lord.

12.1.03