Poetry

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If Christ is the groom,
He wakes early,
puts on His white suit,
and sits on the side
of the bed practicing
His vows, pinching
the crease of His pants;
hoping today is the day.

If the Church is the bride,
she can't decide
on the right dress to wear,
isn't sure about the whole
"committment thing" anyway,
fumes about being
independent, free, liberated,
not needing to rely on some
man her whole life,
and in frustration
throws the ring at Him.

She calls him from a pay
phone an hour later;
she's changed her mind,
begs Him to take her back
and she'll never do it again.
He picks her up at the bus stop,
gently places the ring
on her finger and wipes the
habitual tears from her cheek,
tells her not to worry,
we all have our bad days.

Peter Andrew Nelson, 2006

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