At Times
Here. Take this makeshift poem.
Copy the lines on a sheet of paper
then cut them into tiny strips.
Find a shovel and dig a hole.
Bury the ribbons of words.
Water that spot for seven days.
Watch. Nothing will flower there.
This will teach you something about love.
How it begins with words that at times
cut and get jumbled and buried away.
How at times it appears unblooming.
How at times it feels foolish, like watering
paper in the backyard before dark.
Love is the essence of things hoped for.
The tending is evidence you believe.
“Tending”
What a great word for all the big and small things we do that feel futile, but that come from a heart of love.
Thanks be to God that as we are tending, we are also being tended.
lovely..
Yes.
You’re on a roll Mr. Blase
“the tending is evidence you believe.”
True that.