Marking Figures

Whether it’s hot, cold, rainy or warm,
She begs to go to her favorite place.
In much the same way, I long to see His face.
But in the seeing, comes the fearful knowing
Of just how large is His, and, small, my space.
And how I hesitate when He takes and takes,
Each and every part of my heart to trace
The motions of His love in all my words and deeds.
But don’t we often take their small, pudgy hands,
Marking figures they don’t clearly write or understand?
And like them, don’t we puzzle at the shapes He marks so decisively?
Such as the way we all must love our enemies?
Perhaps, it’s the same fuss we once made over marking the “T” (cross).

Posted in Perspective, Poem for Your Day, Poetry