yesterday, tbV and i went to visit our friend Lilly Lewin in Napa for a morning activity of prayer, reflection and listening to God that she calls ‘Time in the Vines’.
one of the activities was selecting a stone with a random word on it and the word i picked was ‘Gratitude’ and one of the things i did while reflecting was write this poem:
GRATITUDE
as i drag my almost lifeless body
one more step forward
towards the hope of an unseen oasis
my dry mouth listens out for
the possibility of even a solitary drop of liquid refreshment
to forever banish this dusty cough
i shield my eyes from the sun
beating down directly at me
as i stand at the bottom of this well and gaze upwards
fingers numb and brokenly bloody
from scratching at the walls
of my undeserved prison
voice reduced to a hoarse mumbling
as i talk back at myself
and chastise my very existence
for holding out this hope
as i lean a little closer to the fire
to try and squeeze some small measure
of warmth into these aching bones
my fingers curl tightly around the edges
of this shard of glass i hold tightly to
which acts as a defender of this body
from those wretched sores and boils
“Yet will I rejoice”
Yet will I? Re-joice?
“Can we accept good from God and not evil?”
Well, in times that are good, surely we can easily hold to this
to account for the bad?
“The joy of the Lord is my strength.”
The joy. Of the Lord.
What if, right now, right here…
i don’t have any strength?
“Father, forgive them!”
Oh come now, now you’re asking too much…
What of that is ever deserved?
By them i mean?
“Consider the lilies…”
Now this i do try to do
And there, out of the corner of my eye
Calling on all my powers of peripheral vision
I think, just for a second , that i may have spotted a hint of blue
The sound of a vehicle arriving, perhaps
And footsteps heading towards my pathetic pit
Of a voice from somewhere above
Readying to clear His throat
and, despite all of this present now
i am reminded of all that has passed
and know so effortlessly
what my response has got to be…
[…] Gratitude – a poem written from a space of desert but in a vineyard […]