Poetry

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Even with Your hand, I stumble, tripping

over and over the rocks and rubble of life.

With each obedient step, I become more adept,

sometimes rooting in spots, sometimes flying.

I can almost hear Your sighs as You again reach,

kissing the scrapes, picking me up, ruffling my hair.

You are an unbending oak, a solid rock in an ocean of chaos,

a light in the midnight sky.

You are my Father. Sweet, sweet Comforter.

Often I find myself blinded by what confounds.

Then, Your soft, still voice whispers through my heart.

At that moment I am lifted up in an angel-soaring of my soul.

Thank You, Lord. Thank You, Teacher.

I can almost hear Your sighs as You again reach,

kissing the scrapes, picking me up, ruffling my hair.

You are an unbending oak, a solid rock in an ocean of chaos,

a light in the midnight sky.

You are my Father. Lover of my soul.

Dancing through the darkness, I lose my way in my

own diminuative choreography.

I forget to turn my head to You and stumble.

Your arms are there, Your arms are there!

When I finally lay my head down, Your peace creates

a night light for my soul.

I can almost hear You sigh as You again reach,

kissing the scrapes, picking me up, ruffling my hair.

You are an unbending oak, a rock in an ocean of chaos,

a light in the midnight sky.

You are my Father. I love You.

c 11/2006 M. LaPointe

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