This a.m. in stillness and reflection I was prompted by my online participation in Birthing the Holy "to move to the edges of what we know, to grow less comfortable and stretch ourselves into new places." In general to be alert, awake, and faithful for the coming of that which we can only imagine. As I attempted to clear my mind of external distraction, a poem that I wrote last year regarding faith and the willingness to wait in silence for the coming of our Lord, came to my mind. I share here again that poetry......
Faith from the dirt
The ground - such faith lives in the dirt
It prays that the seed will take to its bed
That the soil can once more quickly envelop its teeny charges, with few escaping to death
It begins to pray for water
How can the soil expect its prayers to be answered again
Year after year, it prays for water and the water comes
In a cloudburst from heaven or the steady misting from a man made device
It continues to pray for water
The soil is patient as a parable
Always sure of its purpose
Most assuredly aware of the pathway to harvest
But probably never aware of its power and strength to feed the world
Unknowingly the seeds nestle into the soil and nurse from the rain's benevolence
Swelling into abundance and bursting into the glory of green life
The soil is hidden now, a lowly shade of dirt brown next to the brilliant green crop
But its job goes on, supporting, bolstering, strengthening the sheaves
Now praying for the warmth of the sun
The scarcity of feeding deer and trampling elk
The sun hears and responds with glorious scorching warmth
Baking the wheat to a golden field of dancing abundance
The soil gives its life to the harvest
And mourns the wheat's departure with fine layers of dry, airborne dust
The soil will miss this crop and resign itself to waiting and praying
Praying for the strength and opportunity to sustain a new harvest of tiny, unknowing seeds
It prays that the seed will take to its bed
That the soil can once more quickly envelop its teeny charges, with few escaping to death
It begins to pray for water
How can the soil expect its prayers to be answered again
Year after year, it prays for water and the water comes
In a cloudburst from heaven or the steady misting from a man made device
It continues to pray for water
The soil is patient as a parable
Always sure of its purpose
Most assuredly aware of the pathway to harvest
But probably never aware of its power and strength to feed the world
Unknowingly the seeds nestle into the soil and nurse from the rain's benevolence
Swelling into abundance and bursting into the glory of green life
The soil is hidden now, a lowly shade of dirt brown next to the brilliant green crop
But its job goes on, supporting, bolstering, strengthening the sheaves
Now praying for the warmth of the sun
The scarcity of feeding deer and trampling elk
The sun hears and responds with glorious scorching warmth
Baking the wheat to a golden field of dancing abundance
The soil gives its life to the harvest
And mourns the wheat's departure with fine layers of dry, airborne dust
The soil will miss this crop and resign itself to waiting and praying
Praying for the strength and opportunity to sustain a new harvest of tiny, unknowing seeds
SS poetry inspired by the golden wheat fields of the Walla Walla Valley
