Wanderings

Wanderings

She walks alone and finds her voice
Yet she has nothing say.
She feels the pain of the world and knows her own.
Afraid of her shadow others see her as brave.

Her life is one long profound question
With no answers.

No one sees her demons but they are real to her.

The trees whisper secrets to heaven that only God knows.

Alone in the woods she feels at home
In the midst of the crowd she is lonely and lost.
The woods speak truth to her and she knows
Peace, joy, wonder, hope.

The world's noise tells her
That she is not deep enough into her hearts forest.

The swap of the trees help her realize she can bend and adapt.

She decided years ago to follow Jesus
And was never alone again.
God never leaves her side and gives her strength each day.

Despite the cold winter day
There is life in the green moss on the tree.

Sitting in the coolness of the winter by a chilly creek warms her heart
But on a sunny day she feels chilled to the bone.

Belief in God is most important
But she must also believe in herself
And be willing to trust and let God be in charge.

Maybe the woods only speak to her
But a stack of rocks says "strength, courage, hope, belief…"

To some her view is the same old thing, creek, path, trees and rocks
But the water is new. It's never flowed over these rocks before.
This gives her comfort.

Hard to believe in a few short weeks these frail fragile branches
Will swell with green buds and frilly leaves.
Birds will sing praises but today
The pines moan with pain and chill.

The water in the creek comes from God
It fell from the sky, rose from the earth.
It nourishes the life there.
It is said that bread is life but
Water sustains life.

My son wants me to fly but I fear it.
Perhaps if reincarnation is real,
I will come back as a bird with wings and be able to fly.
I may be an eagle or song bird or maybe just an albatross.
I won't fear flight.

I'm not a Bible scholar but
I know a lot of verses and stories.
The one about the stump of Jesse always puzzled me.
Like a stump with life, sprouts grow new trees.
Maybe that's the message.
Old, cut down and immobile
We can still grow and stand tall.
Maybe every majestic tree in the woods came from a stump.

Image is from cross zine.