I don’t remember any of my father’s sermons.
Lord knows I’ve tried. Yet what I vividly retain
is his presence, and maybe that’s the better thing.
For there are those who preach and the words ring
wrong. But there are some whose words surrender
to God’s alchemy so that their very flesh and bones
become a witness to the Grace that keeps this world.
You see, my father was a sower—his golden hands
scattered seeds of good news like a man casting his
bread upon the waters with abandon, for my father
knew the tender mercies of the Lord in this living land
and longed for you and me to taste and see them too.