Growing Seeds

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Here they stand, washed and clean

wearing white

Shining keen.

On the lawn, in the yard,

bold faced front,

smiles large.

And if you ask, you’ll hear them say:

Jesus, only way.

As infant babes, they made a stand,

all rejoiced,

all was grand.

In that way, they grew to know

a man, a savior,

and the world, a show.

So him they claimed as right and true,

but if you knew…

In their hearts they doubt the promise -

whitewashed tombs

like the psalmist.

If they sin, their worries sway.

Will he forgive?

Or send away?

Does one trespass weight the more

and blacken hearts to the core?

So deep within they hold the bones

to front a mask,

to shield the moans.

This in mind, they pray and plead

others see

only potent, godly deed.

And so go on, empty, broken sepulcher

living what they wish they were.

Spiting words to say and deeds to do,

still they stumble,

faults they eschew .

To their knees they come,

Savior and Lord,

But have faults won?

Heart so willing for His gain,

but flesh so weak, causing pain.

How can it be that perfect God

Should love a man?

Making fine a packed dirt clod

I glory in that this love, this creed

Depends not on perfection

But a growing seed.

Persisting on, watered, starved

Into the ground, it’s slowly carved.

And as it carves a hard won place

To the sun,

It lifts its face.

And even when the drought does come

The roots still cling

Though watered only some

The tenuous grasp is enough to hold

And reap the treasure of life worth gold. 

Emily Bergstrom

5/3/2013