taking another ounce
sweet precious ounce
one more drop of strength
my knees begin to give way
buckled as strength
runs for the exits…
whispering another prayer
beneath my breath
as the din of sorrow weigh
elephant heavy upon me.
Some good men stand for moments
others for countless years
all depending on a strength they neither
posses or pretended to from the start.
Every fragment of life, a gift
sometimes left hidden and unopened
under the tree, with crimson bow
still attached like drops of blood
from the cross so long ago.
What is it that I comprehend, if not
for His suffering and life giving?
Can the temporal glimpse
eternal…just slivers of hope,
a fraction of glory?
I stand here, battered
fight weary, arms like rubber
feet like concrete…yet we are
far from finished.
Pastor's Ponderings 
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