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Blue-gray the barren mountains of Moab
at dusk . . . a tour bus winds its way
up to Jerusalem, City of God, from Tel Aviv.
How one feels, the emotion, is difficult to convey;
the very mold of earth, contours of land,
grip my heart and I feel a rising tide of tears
sting my eyes. I am assaulted by colors, manifold
and magnificent, that tantalize, pierce
my inner being.  The colors of humanity's face
in multiple tones and shades of brown: pecan
mahogany, cinnamon, hazelnut,
walnut, bisque, ebony and tan;
I see eyes of most unusual hues,
the colors of sea mist, celery, black, pale jade,
olive bark, tiger's eye, leaf of blue sage.
This ancient land . . . world religions on parade
in conflict claiming holy sites, the Temple Mount 
the ultimate, golden prize.  I walk for days
treasuring the feel of this earth beneath my feet,
tramping dusty brown paths and secret ways
in this place where Jesus lived and died.
I bend beneath close gray rocks to gaze
upon His birthplace in humble Bethlehem - a cave;
I mark the stations of the cross where His love blazed
in flames of blood red, marking His lonely, crowded path
from scourging trial to Golgotha's skull marked hill;
and there He offered up His pure white heart
humanity's black sin to cover and my poor soul to fill.

Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, June 23, 2014

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