Day 24: Beauty from Ashes

 


A Poem From a Comfort Addict 


Get a picture with dirt she says.

(Take your shoes off)

Let the cold and wet and pungent soil seep into my skin and remind me of what's real. 

(Wash your hands)

Do I need clean spaces in order to function?

(Yes)

Can I function in mess?

(Yes, but I don't want to)

Sometimes I want to tame the wild.

Out of my house, my kids, me.

I want to shut the windows, cut and prune and tidy until I can finally breathe a sigh of relief and say, "There, now I can rest."

But maybe the wild is meant to tame us? 

What do we do when all of the world is at odds with itself and we are too?

What do we do when this East of Eden curse drives us to devastating dominion?

Life is cut off at the root.

We gasp.

We cling.

We struggle.

We kick and scream.

We wrap our blankets around us a little tighter.

("A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit...The nations will rally to him,  and his resting place will be glorious").

I will place myself in the way of this Shoot, this -

New life.

It will grow in all sorts of beautiful surprising ways.

(Repeat the sounding joy).

My comfort seeking soon feels suffocating. 

(Repeat the sounding joy).

I cast it aside, knowing I'll need to do it again tomorrow.

(Repeat the sounding joy).

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