A wolf howls loudly through the silent, mid- winter night while pangs of loneliness stir my soul to join him in his cries up to the foreboding sky. The Lord is out there somewhere in the dark of night, I know because I can feel the Spirit stir through leafless trees and matchless stars.
The Holy Ghost whispers and walks through the sleeping forest outside, a place my soul both longs and fears to go, beckoning it to come and reside and fight in the land where battle fronts call out for the hero in our hearts. Stir, I say to my blood run cold, the wolf won’t wait forever.
The Lord leads him on through the night, through barren hill tops and forest paths on to something more, the cause, the fight, the reason to hold its head up high again. The Lord, he resides somewhere in the night. Spirit, draw the cover from my soul turn it from fear to joy in promise leading from pit to well- spring to whole.
This became a song and can be found most digital outlets and on YouTube under Gregor Southard “Art Before Artist.”
