The promising lines on a napkin
scribbles on a (clean) Kleenex
start of a sonnet next to publicity
of a discount shop,
even an outburst of rage under a receipt.
From the time I kept a pencil in the toilet:
poem-attempts were made on toilet paper.
All of these crumpled scraps lived
in a box, waiting patiently until
today.
I looked, read, discarded and threw away.
Why could I not simply say
"This is good" and work it out?
This stupid doubts,
this insecurity.
In my advancing life
I had so many chances.
Sad to admit I threw
a
w
a
y
so many.
God found me, and I found Him
He loves me, and always did
although I was not aware.
It never is too late. I know that now.
Marjon van Bruggen
29-08-20
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Author Notes
Why did it take me so long? I have always believed in God, but as a matter of fact, a birthright, so to speak. When my Carlo died two years ago, I needed Him so desperately, I prayed so intensely to help me. I didn't want to go insane with grief and drown in the big hole that opened up before me.
And there He appeared, nestled in my heart and didn't go away again.
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