The usual problem surfaces: where to
begin? The reasons for and why
pile up like snowflakes in a drift
to bury all that points the other way,
the negatives we could not bury, even now, without the snow.
(Angels come in many guises,
some too chilly for belief.)
For all it seems like winter's wonderland,
we take it to our hearts, discovering
that, snow or not, we have eternal spring.
The wonder of it is we ever thought
the cold more influential than the love,
our lives more blessed or blighted by thrown dice -
God's or the Devil's, for it made no matter which.
It's people with their whims and vagaries
for whom we most rejoice, for whom we first give thanks.
For them and for the fact that we have life
and by their agency have life in full -
an inner life that makes love paramount.
Sometimes we carve a brightness from the fog -
or someone carves it for us -
and in its light give thanks. The light,
high brightness of an Earth that lives (at least
for now) and faith that gives
this Earth the benefit
that it can find the way that we have lost.
This poem a response to The Gooseberry Garden's challenge to write about Things I am thankful for in my life.
Church Signs heard on local radio.
Keep taking my name in vain
and I'll make rush hour longer.
Honk if you love Jesus,
text and drive if you want to meet him.
Church Parking only.
Trespassers will be baptized.
How do we get Holy Water?
We boil the hell out of it.
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