This poem has been sitting in my drafts since 2011. At some point I probably posted it, but it seems to fit with this day of serving and accepting Communion, and affirming that we have enough even when that is hard to believe. A bit of housekeeping, in the spirit of Lent. Light duty, in the spirit of Sabbath. Rather than just deleting it and forgetting it again, I risk sending it once more.
“Thirst,” by Mary Oliver in THIRST (Boston: Beacon, 2006), p. 69.
Another morning and I wake with thirst
for the goodness I do not have. I walk
out to the pond and all the way God has
given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord,
I was never a quick scholar but sulked
and hunched over my books past the
hour and the bell; grant me, in your
mercy, a little more time. Love for the
earth and love for you are having such a
long conversation in my heart. Who
knows what will finally happen or
where I will be sent, yet already I have
given a great many things away, expecting
to be told to pack nothing, except the
prayer which, with this thirst, I am
slowly learning.
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