Oh Soul of Mine

Oh Soul of Mine
Written by Stacy MacLaren
7.14.2026

Oh soul of mine,
how long will you keep forgetting?

How long will you stand in the middle of answered prayers
still asking if God has abandoned you?

You wake beneath borrowed breath.
Your lungs fill because He wills them to.
The sun rises over your ordinary life
with mercies you did not earn,
and still you search the horizon
for one more sign,
one more certainty,
one more guarantee
that His heart is good toward you.

You are a fickle disciple,
a modern Thomas
pressing your fingers against every promise
before you dare believe it.

You say that trust lives within you,
yet at the first glimpse of waiting
you outrun the Shepherd
whose footsteps have never once
wandered from the path of your life.

You confuse movement for faithfulness.

You confuse speed for obedience.

You mistake your own urgency
for the voice of God.

You sprint ahead,
certain that if you do not force the story,
it will never unfold.

Then, when the road bends
where you did not expect,
you turn altogether
and carve your own trail,
convinced that your wayfinding
must surely be kinder
than the silence of His leading.

Oh soul of mine,
when did you decide
that the desert could hold
nothing but suffering?

Who convinced you
that barren places
cannot also be holy ground?

Have you forgotten
that deep wells are often found
beneath the wild and rugged?
That manna falls where there is no harvest?
That burning bushes grow bright
in lonely places?
That resurrection waits
inside gardens watered by tears?

The desert is not always punishment.

Sometimes
it is the place where every false certainty
is finally stripped away
until all that remains
is the steady voice
of the One who has been speaking
all along.

How many times
must He prove Himself faithful?

Count them.

Count every door
that He opened
when every lock remained beyond your strength.

Count every sorrow
that somehow became rich soil
for something green.

Count every prayer
that seemed unanswered
until years later
when you looked back
and whispered,
"Thank You for saying not yet."

Count every mountain
you never thought you would climb.

Count every valley
you never imagined surviving.

Count every unexpected kindness.

Count every impossible provision.

Count every quiet rescue.

Write them down
until remembrance
becomes stronger than fear.

For Grace
has never walked slowly toward you.

She has sprinted.

Mercy has never waited politely
at the edge of your rebellion.

She has chased you.

At His command
they have pursued you
through every season
you thought would be your last.

They found you
when you wandered.

They found you
when you hid.

They found you
when you exhausted yourself
trying to become
your own savior.

And when your lips cracked
from chasing mirages
that could never satisfy,
He did not hand you
just enough water
to survive.

No.

He led you
to springs that remembered Eden.

He poured cool mercy
over your fevered soul.

He taught thirsty places
how to bloom again.

He restored
what striving
could never repair.

Oh soul of mine,
why do you still resist

the refreshment of the stream?

Why do you insist
upon building your own cisterns
when Living Water
calls your name?

Why do you fear
the slowing down?

Why does rest
feel so dangerous?

You ache
for the very things
He stretches out His hands to give.

Peace.

Belonging.

Home.

Stillness.

Love that asks nothing of you
except to receive it.

Yet because the gift
does not arrive
wrapped in your timetable,
or according to your carefully drawn map,
you leave it unopened
rejected at your own doorstep.

You pray for shelter,
then complain
that it looks like waiting.

You pray for wisdom,
then resent
the years required to grow it.

You pray for transformation,
then resist
the wilderness
where transformation
always begins.

Oh soul of mine,
lay down
your exhausting pursuit
of becoming
what you were never meant
to manufacture.

Lay down
your timelines.

Lay down
your demands.

Lay down
the illusion
that everything depends upon you.

Return.

Return to the One
who has never once
lost sight of where you are.

Return to the Shepherd
whose rod has rescued you
far more often
than it has corrected you.

Return to the Father
whose porch light
never goes dark.

Read again
the story
He has been writing all along.

Notice the chapters
where you thought
the pages had gone blank.

See His fingerprints
pressed into every season.

Watch how every ending
became the beginning
of another grace.

Watch how every detour
became a road
you now would never trade.

Watch how every heartbreak
was quietly held
inside hands
that never once
let go of you.

They pulled you closer,
They held you tighter

His plans
have always been better
than your panic.

His timing
has always been kinder
than your urgency.

His heart
has always been safer
than your certainty.

Oh soul of mine,

you are not forgotten.
You are not behind.
You are not abandoned.

You are deeply,
steadfastly,
relentlessly loved.

So open your eyes.
Open your hands.

Open the weary places
you've kept closed
for fear of disappointment.

Receive again
what Heaven has never stopped offering.

Grace upon grace.

Mercy upon mercy.

Morning after morning.

Season after season.

Again.
And again.
And again.

For the One who began your story
has never stopped writing.

And every page,
even the ones warped with tears,
has always been moving
toward the goodness
of His heart.

Oh soul of mine...

rest.

His plans for you
have always been
good.

Photo by John Royle on Unsplash