On Giving Thanks

[There's a tradition of a poem appearing on Life in the Shoe on Thanksgiving.  This year, for the first time, it's free verse. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, all of you reader-blessings.]

"Give Thanks"

Sometimes the summer heat

Begins in June and then

For weeks and months forgets

As fuchsias die

And wells run dry

And grass turns brown

and all of us grow weary

and cows keep looking at the ground

for green that isn’t there—

forgets

that summer wasn’t meant to be like this.

A breeze at times

A summer shower

Is that too much to ask?

“Give thanks” the Father says

And so we do, or try,

And think “How long

This season lasts.

Do you not see?

The thirsty cow

And me?”

So “thanks” I say

Reluctantly

And find again

The seed of hope

The surety

That change will come

Eventually

This will not last forever.

“Give thanks,” He says

In those relentless times

Of silent suffering

And too much noise

And more than we can do

Or take

Or comprehend.

And people scraping hard

On that old wound

And all my faults exposed

like dangling dusty spiderwebs.

Those times of loss

Of how I wanted things to be.

The depths of helplessness.

The wounds,

The wondering

If this season ever ends and

If there is any chance He sees.

“Give thanks.”

And so I do

For life and grace

For change to come someday.

My helplessness to change

The heat the drought

The loss the pain

Also means I’m powerless

To change the flow of time

And so it moves

Unseen by me.

Until the clouds decide

To congregate one day,

Block out the sun

And bless the waiting earth

With rain.

Hydrangeas

Sheep and cats and cows

All drink

And grass turns green

With life.

The time has come.

So time moves on

For me as well

One day I wait in hope

Unseeing still

And then the clouds move in

And change arrives.

The splinter pulled at last,

The finger bandaged clean

The pressure lifts

Forgiveness comes,

A healing word,

A hope fulfilled

A change,

A tree of life

Solution, restoration.

And seeing, I give thanks.

He sees.

He waits for unseen purposes

And wise and full of love

He keeps my heart

And when its soil

Is ready for new growth

He sends

The rain.

No season lasts forever, so,

He watches in the waiting

Calls us to trust,

Stand on the iron ground,

Turn to the sky of bronze,

And give our thanks.