As I was looking across some poetry I had filed away, I came across this poem, written about 3 years ago (3 years already?!). I was reminded again at how much things I have written in the past often mean more to me later than when I wrote them. I needed this tonight.
Like rainbow colored playdough in childish hands
Are all our deep desires
Sent from the Father of lights, Father of all
Kindler of all dream fires
Left on our own, we shape our dreams
And in our desires delight
Not knowing that what we have done is done
Through unskilled blinded sight
We mold and shape with fumbling hands desires
What we think our destiny
Till our Father in love reaches down and whispers
“Child, child, give it to me.”
But no, I wail, I cannot; it must be mine, mine!
These desires belong to me
My Father’s hands are inexperienced; he cannot know
How I want it all to be!
What if my Father drops my dreams?
What I he waits too long?
What if the colors lose their hue?
And life its rainbow song?
Through a rain of tears I look down in my hands
At the feeble dreams I’ve made
And wonder who could better- Creator or created?
Bring glory from rainbow shades?
“Delight thyself in the Lord and He will give thee the desires of thine heart.”