A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek; I want to drink God, deep draughts of God . I’m thirsty for God-alive. I wonder. ..” Will I ever make it – arrive and drink in God’s presence?” I am on a diet of tears – tears for breakfast, tears for supper . All day long people knock at my door, pestering… “Where is this God of yours?” These are the things I go over and over, emptying out the pockets of my life. I was always part of the worshipping crowd, right out in front, eager to arrive and worship, shouting praises, singing thanksgiving – celebrating God’s feast. Why are you down in the dumps dear soul? Why are you crying the blues? When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse everything I know of You, from Jordan depths to Hermon heights, including Mount Mizar, Chaos calls to chaos… to the tune of white-water rapids. Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers crush and crush me! Then God promises to love me all day, sing songs all through the night. My