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words: Jon Swales

music. pixabay 'Hope'

The Waiting of All Things

The whole creation waits—

not quietly,

but leaning forward

with the ache of expectation.

Galaxies tilt toward the dark,

spirals cupped like listening ears.

Stars hold their breath

between burning and blessing,

knowing there is more

than endless expansion and collapse.

Rocks remember touch.

They remember being named good

before they were quarried,

before they were broken

for speed and profit.

They bear the weight of violence,

the long erosion of sorrow,

and still they wait—

patient as prayer pressed into stone.

Rivers keep moving

through poisoned veins of land.

Waterfalls fall

like tears that refuse to be wasted.

They groan with the sound of mourning,

yet rush with hope,

as if every plunge knows

it is not the end.

Rainbows stretch themselves

across wounded skies,

not forgetting the flood,

but daring to believe

that mercy still arches over ruin.

They wait,

colours pulled taut as promise.

Whales sing in the deep.

Their voices carry grief and memory,

songs heavy with plastic and silence,

yet tuned for joy.

They groan—

but their groaning is music,

a labour-song for a world

not yet born.

Trees rise on tiptoes,

peering through the dark.

Roots remembering light.

Branches leaning toward dawn.

Then—

they clap their hands.

Not politely.

Not on cue.

But wildly.

Leaves shudder with memory.

Bark strikes bark

in stubborn praise.

They clap because roots know resurrection

long before theology names it.

They clap because hope

is older than despair.

All creation is watching,

eyes wide with longing,

for the revealing

of the children of God.

The world is not what it will be—

and it knows it.

When they appear—

not by courage,

not by timing,

but because the hour has come—

creation exhales.

Rocks loosen their grip.

Rivers quicken their dance.

Forests erupt in applause.

Galaxies widen with joy.

This is the glory creation waits for:

not escape,

not domination,

but belonging made visible.

And the whole world—

still groaning,

still hoping—

keeps leaning forward,

waiting

for love unveiled

to take flesh

again.

Rev'd Jon Swales

Feb 2026.

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Words: Rev'd Jon Swales

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Words Rev'd Jon Swales

https://www.cruciformjustice.com