canticle 32

i wish it was easier

to believe that you wipe

all my foolishness off the slate,

that you don’t hold a grudge

but pour out grace on me.

yet, when i hold it all in,

when i am not willing

to sit down at the table

and share my dumb mistakes,

well,

i feel so empty, so lost,

my soul is so parched

as if i have been in a desert.

but when i sit across from you,

rubbing my fingers in circles

on the tabletop, hoping the server

will come by with more tea;

when i clear my throat, start

to say something, stop,

start over again and, in a rush,

let the words slide over to your side,

you smile, grin, begin to chuckle,

break out into a hearty laugh and,

picking up the check, say,

‘let’s get out of here and

get on with living.’

we go out into the bright sunshine

where i start grabbing everyone

to let them know that, in you,

they find that haven of hope,

they find that island in an ocean of fears,

they find that shady tree on hot days,

they find the one they’ve been longing

to open their hearts so they might be mended.

if we listen carefully, if we write it down,

if we watch carefully, we will discover

that the mystery is really simple to solve –

quit insisting on our own way,

stop trying to pull you to follow us,

let go of all that anger than weighs us down,

and if we do, why

all that grumpiness, all those worries,

all those ‘what will happen if God . . .’

are washed away by those loving waters

of grace, hope, joy, and wonder

and we can holler our hearts out,

we can skip behind you, holding hands

with all the other mended souls,

glad that we finally opened our mouths

and heard your loving voice in our ears.

© 2020 Thom M. Shuman