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.

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