Is there grace for me to be scattered?
Is there even gift in it somewhere?
I want to be gathered in,
drawn close, secured and grounded,
but instead I am scattered like pollen
on the cool spring breeze.
The stories you tell of scattered peoples
decry unfaithfulness and lament divine action
and I am searching, searching,
for one good story to know
that my discombobulation
is not without hope.
Can you not
make a beautiful mosaic
out of these scattered pieces,
or grow a forest from scattered seeds?
Must all be in order and in place
before you give a blessing?
Can you not find me
in this disarray?
Though I am scrambled and scrambling,
O Gracious and Mighty God, do not let me
be separated from you or divided within myself.
Though I feel dismantled and disjointed,
in your mercy make use of me
where I am and
as I am
while we both wait on
these pieces to find their way
back to wholeness.
Discombobulation is such a wonderful word! ‘Though I am scrambled and scrambling..’ Yes, even so may wholeness come in pieces and scattering. Thank you, Rachel.
Yes, to know wholeness even while in pieces. Amen.
In the garden,
we wait to see, what grows.
Surprised by scarlet tulips,
noting the abundant dandelions.
We wait to see what grows.
Holding back on plans to prune,
noting the abundant dandelions.
The weeds stake their claim boldly.
Holding back on plans to prune,
surprised by scarlet tulips,
the weeds stake their claim boldly
in the garden.
I love this form of poetry (drawing a blank on its name), but stunning how it builds in revelation. Beautiful, Hilary!
It’s called a pantoum, Rachel.
Thanks! 🙂