A Crucible of Children

Fire.

Screaming fire.

Flames flickering in every direction,

Running wildly in every direction.

Stamp one out and two more come up,

Embers arguing until a wind stirs them up.

I wave my arms to reign them in,

To gather them in.

They scatter,

Chicks fleeing my herding,

Half going the way I want,

Half the other.

Catch the fleeing ones and hold them.

Gentler than gentle,

Coax them the other way,

Fire searing me in the face

All the way.

I am on fire,

A farmer burning in the fields of harvest,

Failure and fortune,

Folly and freedom,

Furious frustration burning me down as love draws me on.

Joy.

Joy.

Joy.

I am dying from His joy, and I fear there will be nothing left.


(I wrote this poem about five days into my one-week mission trip to New York, at the end of my ropes emotionally and driven to intense prayer and a deeper reliance on Jesus. This is what came out after one night of prayer, and it seems to be the point where the floodgates of poetry writing were opened.)

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One thought on “A Crucible of Children

  1. Pingback: My Favorite Things | What Has Jesus Done?

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