Written in Advent, the pondering on our role, our place, in the creating of God, seems topical on any given day, as I wonder whether we're just along for the ride or making a bit of creating history ourselves.
Yours to offer
ours to receive?
Or does it stop being
Yours and become ours
as we take and receive?
As the ‘it’ passes from
You into the cosmos
there for all if we but
had the eyes to see?
As author, does the story
remain always and ever
and only Yours – we but
the readers of the words
You wrote in the skies
before there were such
things as skies?
Or is this a story we help
Do we ride upon Your back
like the whale riders of
New Zealand . . .
like a kite on the wind . . .
dandelion seedlets on the breath of a child . . .
a snuggled baby on its father’s back . . .
the thought of a babe in its mother’s womb
a fleck of skin on the arm of an old man who
carried the seed of it from his own mother’s womb?
Are we merely along for the journey?
That would be all right with me.
It’s scarier to be a co-author – then I’m
even just a tiny bit responsible for the
outcome, aren’t I?
Maybe, just for now, in this advent season of waiting,
I’ll just be along for the ride, if that’s okay with You, Lord.
I’m left wondering if there are days when You yearn likewise –
to just be along for the ride. I want to tell you that’s okay too
and as You have carried me so long, I will carry You for a time –
I’d like to, but I am awfully afraid I’ll drop You –
and then where would we be?