I am master of the foundless
worry, and so these concerns
try to master me,
a long history of chains formed
hypothetically in my mind.
They are invisible but I still
try to give them tangible strength.
I feel the weight of spiritual
trial, seemingly an oxymoron,
unseen, and yet present,
hoping my muscles have begun
to develop, hoping my legs will
stand up stronger than they used to,
hoping I have grown these last few
decades since my initial baptism,
no longer needing extended incubation,
a seed that God has planted
rising to light in spite of struggle,
not for the purpose of my own fate
but for a gradual relational journey.
How the Bible gives us
one side, then the other;
it is as if God is saying to us,
Work it out, people, talk about it,
love each other and figure together;
but we are so much better
at divisions, hurrying to boundaries,
children protecting our corners,
our tiny sand castles, huddling
in greedy circles.
Meanwhile, the Father is whispering:
The tide is coming, it does not matter,
this castle will crumble anyway,
stop clinging to sand.
© JD DeHart
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His poems have appeared in a variety of journals and websites.