The things great and glorious are all a jumble
In the start-stop-go-stop-go-go-breathe
Of a busy week;
The both/and of a full life.
Yet waiting still stretches endlessly here.
I have only specks of patience to my name,
And sometimes my prayers
Are just desperate stares at the ceiling.
The good is folded in with the painful,
The beautiful with the ugly.
I’m held together with tape and glue
But at least I’m held together.
And I have eyes to see and ears to hear
The words and whispers of a Creator
Woven within a tangled and magnificent creation.
The grace of living, again.