My troubled mind brings no sorrow;
Instead, insight to the stones below
This dirt I’ve tread for many winters—
Stones which tell the story old.
My father sailed the gulf upholding
The pan with which my hand may beg.
He has found much calmer waters
While I must brave these stormy seas.
Lord, I will wander
Until I find my shores at last
And if those sands burn like the Sun,
Surely you will bring me shade.
For I am Jonah cast upon this beach
From my own doubts and disbelief.
And now I sing through these city streets,
“Open wide your eyes and see.”