No amount of straining or swimming,
of longing or praying can free me
from the currents of life that I think myself
so adept in navigating. For the stream
runs on without a care and the storms come
(inevitably, invariably) to show off their
lack of care and deference. Tell me, O God,
Thou Convener of Storms and Soothsayer of Life,
tell me truly that you have not created me (us)
to drift like a faded leaf along this creek;
tell me now that our paths are not happenstance
or divine amusement, but purposeful (even
worthwhile) for the short meandering time
that we have them, drifting along these currents.
on James 4:14