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.