I reach for you like a weary flower stretching out its roots
searching far and wide through the dirt
to find light and richness and beauty;
and it takes me a while, most cunning God,
to see what I’ve already found in my hungry rummaging:
I’ve found the Dirt: messy, gets-under-your-nails,
all-surrounding, life-sustaining Dirt.
So I soak in Holy Dirt to satisfy my weariness;
I savor the earthiness of you,
and determine to hold on to faith
that the muddiness is good and holy
and that this green growth (my life) is enough
without the kaleidoscopic brilliance of a bloom for today.
Take my life, O Holy Dirt,
be kind and generous in feeding this flower
that I might be green and growing to your glory.
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