There’s something in you that senses, as C. S. Lewis wrote, “the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.” ~ Brooks, David. The Second Mountain (p. 43). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
A friend asks, “Can you write a poem
with ‘do I paint the stripes on the leaves?’”
The answer? “Not yet.”
In the spirit of C. S. Lewis,
can I play the role of God
and stretch to what seems impossible?
I feel the answer in my soul,
I never could have painted so infinitesimally
and now my hands flub
and bungle…. Impossible!!
But who’s to say God can’t use me.
inept as I may be?
A wise woman I knew fifty years ago
protested singing lyrics of the hymn
proclaiming, “Lord, we are able.
Our spirits are Thine.
Remold them, make us, like Thee, divine.”
God, I can’t, you can. If you wish
to use my hands, they belong to you.
Go right ahead!