In Those Moments
The story goes that from that time
many of his disciples went back,
and walked with him no more.
Sounds familiar as I am often sheared
by words from the gentle lamb of God.
In those moments he is too much.
There, I said it. God is too much.
So I turn back and sit with myself
as his words steep in my brain’s blood.
Should I rush chicken-little back into
service I am useful but tasteless.
But when I can still enough for a long,
long time I am stained darker with
the brash to rise and follow again.
I was on a trail this morning under a cantankerous but good fall sky. Found an old tree full of snow apples and ate one. Then my phone showed me there was a new post from the beautiful due. I think I actually squealed out loud. Rarely do I comment, but I wanted you to know that for some of us, a day is better with wild apples and walks and THEN, one of your poems, in it.
Mary Jane, thanks so much for your kind words. Your trail/snowapples/fallsky morning sounds absolutely wonderful.
John, sometimes it is just that overwhelmingness, that near-to-drowning feeling that takes days to settle into that slow me down and render a full and sobbing peace in my heart.
Exactly.
John, your gift matters.
[…] The story goes that from that time many of his disciples went back, and walked with him no more. Sounds familiar as I am often sheared by words from the gentle lamb of God. […]
Just learned of your poetry today. I am hooked. Here I especially love: “Should I rush chicken-little back into service I am useful but tasteless.” So many thoughts in my head from that one sentence. This piece reminded me that the tastelessness feeling is God speaking and it is important to listen. Thanks for sharing your gift.