Wednesday, December 12, 2018

The Container

The Container

The work, as yet undone, feels mountainous.
“But I’ve already done so much,” my protest.
There is still more to be done.

My marriage is a container 
In which old things foment,
In which new things grow.

Dark soil — I once thought hid broken
And unlovely things — becomes a garden, 
Rich and fertile, germinating life.

A mirror, reflecting back to me
All that is holy, and inviting transformation 
Of all that is still wounded.

What blessed ground, what sacred space is this,
Where I meet God in the other;
Where I meet God within?

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