holy encounter

The Sentinel


it is neither our girth nor our height
nor the straight and rigid backbone
that equips us to meet
the rhythms of the seasons
the pummel of  hailstones
the weight of many thousand leaves
the forces of the gales
the lightning strikes
summer’s fever
and winter’s endless frigid shadows


it is our capacity to sink deep roots
that reach for sustenance
in hidden waters
our willingness to be molded and shaped
by forces of the seasons
to be bent and gnarled
to stretch beyond our tiny beginnings
into many fingered branches
to lean, to sigh
to flourish and to rest


 it is in our brokenness
with our scars scabbed over by time
that we become
creatures of infinite beauty
strong
trustworthy
generous of spirit
existing only to be
of service
and of love                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
      
-pb 2009

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