A Desolate Plain

In each pause between simpler thoughts,

When light creeps into dark,

My mind lead to you.

Driving through dead West Texas land,

Passing skeletal remains of towns,

To an oasis you have tended.

When I can’t see past a heat haze,

Or am deaf to nature’s chaos,

The Spirit pulls at me.

Lifting me into the trees you raised me in,

Guiding me through grass we walked,

To feel safe in the overwhelm.

The trees and the grass are your pride,

A blessing in heated isolation,

A message to your beloved.

With purpose and love in your garden, you succeeded.

That, when I see you, I see green.

In the trees that you lift me into,

In the grass where you walk me,

You left a message for your children,

And their children,

And their children,

And their children,

That life can survive anywhere,

If tended, even in the darkness.

When apocalypse came to your door,

Seemingly, four times in your life,

The world at war, twice,

Vast famine, twice,

Your faith firm for your children,

And their children,

And their children,

And their children,

That we would survive,

If the Spirit was with you.

So when the Spirit pulls at me,

To lift me out of the darkness,

To set me down in your arms,

In the shade and the green,

To touch the leaves of a tree,

Or to guide me in the grass,

You remind me of

The pride in your oasis

In a desolate plain,

A great inheritance,

To be reminded not

Just of love or strength,

But of life, and of living.