| Spiritual Poetry
posted April 8, 2007 |
Free Verse: Along a North Carolina woodland path
This Easter Morn
<<<~~~>>>
I am no stranger to God.
I have seen His handiwork
in the grandeur of a
blazing northern Michigan sunset,
and the gentle grasp of
my newborn babe.
I have felt the might
of His surging power
on a windswept New Hampshire mountainside
as tumultuous clouds gathered,
as well as along a desolate Ohio roadway
caught in the grips of a late
spring blizzard of ice, wind, and fear.
I have experienced His healing powers
when He has restored
the lives and spirits
of his warring and sick children,
and allowed one more day
to dawn upon a world
seemingly devoid
of His memory.
And I have cursed and defiled His name
when a loved one's pain and sorrow
have become too much to bear,
and I am without answers
to soothe a wounded and
tormented heart.
I am no stranger to God.
He will not go away.
He will not let go of me.
I cannot shake Him loose.
When I least expect it,
He makes His presence known.
So it is only fitting
that on this Easter morn
I should hear His voice once again
along this quiet and tranquil North Carolina trail,
surrounded by a cathedral of
glorious white flowering dogwood
blooming at the forest's edge.
Their beauty is breathtaking.
Their abundance is overwhelming.
Their serenity is captivating.
Reverently they lift their billowing cloud-like branches
and pay homage to their Creator.
I hear their joyous refrain,
and I bow my head
in silenced awe,
praise, and humility.
I am no stranger to God.
He has felt my wrath.
He has experienced my despair.
He has heard my rage.
Countless times I have spurned Him
and lost sight of Him along the way.
But He refuses to lose me.
Beside this unsuspecting peaceful pathway,
enveloped by an ethereal chapel of majestic
white flowering dogwood,
He bids me welcome.
Without hesitation,
I accept.
I am no stranger to God,
nor is He to me,
on this splendid
and hope-filled
Easter morn.
April 8, 2007
<<<~~~>>>
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Author's Notes:
When I was a small child, my parents planted two flowering dogwood trees in our northern Michigan yard. One was a Japanese flowering dogwood; the other, a white American flowering dogwood. Both trees grew and flourished for the fifty years my parents owned my childhood home. When my father passed away, and my mother was forced to sell her home, the new owners bulldozed these magnificent trees - seemingly without caring or conscience. I am not sure if my mother ever knew what transpired, but I believe she did. As for me, I have attempted to grow both dogwoods in my own yard. Last year, after waiting almost a decade, the Japanese dogwood finally bloomed. It was breathtaking to behold. This past week, my family and I ventured to Wilmington, North Carolina where I beheld the dogwood in the above poem. Never have I seen such beauty in such abundance. I truly am thankful to have had the experience I relate; I only wish my mother could have seen it as well. . . To each and everyone. . . may you have a most glorious Easter and spring. . .diane
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