Born of God’s love, we are born into love;
then love is born in us, if we are wise.
Good seeds are given, but it’s ours to plant them,
to raise them underneath uncertain skies.
When Todd is watching me, I hope he sees
more things that please than things that give him pause.
I would not cause him grief – that’s my domain –
but surely human pain feels softer there,
where earth and flesh and loss no longer reign.
Today, this long-awaited day,
such bright son-light emerged!
A sacred purpose was fulfilled
as heaven and earth converged.
LOVE IS A BRAID
Stranded we are –
lone shafts of golden grain,
bowing and weaving,
laid low by wind and rain –
raised to bright sky.
I think my skin is on backwards
or maybe inside-out.
It feels too tight; it feels too loose.
It makes me wanna shout.
What is a father meant to be?
A haven, a refuge, a sheltering tree,
a pathway to follow, a good name to share,
a standard to hold up and faithfully bear,
a teacher, a mentor, a gift from above
to guide us, to lead us, to lift us with love.
∞§∞
If this poem resonates with you, you might also enjoy Father’s Fan Club.
The years sit heavy on my back,
this face well-mapped by trails of pain.
These eyes, two tunneled railroad tracks,
are loath to bear the coming train.
image by Danie Franco on UnsplashRenew in me a righteous spirit, Lord,
a valiant spirit with a willing sword.
Make of me more than I alone can be,
a living oak with strong limbs raised to thee.