Beneath the wet earth from the late season snow
Chilled like the flavorless angst of my threadbare resolve,
Lies packages of hope: those tubers, those bulbs yet asleep
Waiting for their time when the sun awakens their beauty in Spring.
Toil not, they do not, using their time of dormancy for its purpose instead
Such that life may burst forth with all that emerges from within
Stored in seasons past, full of sugar-coated memories divided between
The new members, the seeds that join miraculous transformation: the celebration of life as it comes.
How may I be like the created things all around knowing I am so much more —
Use my time of spinning, of strife, of waiting, of failure whilst holding on for my day of celebration too?
For I am worth more than the fruits of the earth, the birds of the air soaring on high
The giant wonders of dark seas, the furry and creepy crawly ones all around
For they have no sense of wonder to bother to reason or ask the mysterious, the “why?”
They simply trust in the DNA of their making and bid their calling to each moment in time.
I may never know the answers to my questions, my quest to make sense of this suffering that goes on
And that must be good enough for me anyways to make the most of what I have been given
As perhaps a stewardship issue, a story told more in the heavenlies than for me here on God’s green earth to know
That someday, digging down deep in my own soul, my Lord will reveal His glory and I will be glader than the raven capturing her prey from above.
Until then, Gentle Reader, we two must trust in the plans set forth by our Father God
Knowing full well that more lies ahead than the lime green leaves birthed from the showers of April
We shall see God and He will love us now til the end of the age when we blossom to the fullness of our destiny
Everlasting, everbearing, ever singing praise to the Most High Who had our hearts all along dear one . . . He said so . . . the beauty from ashes came as we went on and believed. JJ