Life is candy glass
In the hands of children
Imperfecta to a dreamer.
Why is it bestowed upon
we, the undeserved,
The frivolous, the vain?
It is un-recycled, unrepentant
Far more than we can preserve.
These tears are not my own
I am but a poor reflection
A shadow of the genuine
Only less refined, impure.
Why waste His time on this
If not for pure love?
A creature as I am – dirt and mud…
Yes, granted the greatest gift,
This inhalation, this pulse,
This and every other new beginning…
I am candy glass
Yet built to endure eternity.
Pastor's Ponderings 
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