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The Climb

January 28th, 2013

Living Word,

Who quenches my soul’s thirst,

I come as a beggar to Your stream.

I come as one with scraped feet from the rugged rocks

Of disbelief in an uncaring world,

With hands whose flesh is torn

From a rugged climb upward,

With knees and elbows

Ripped and bludgeoned in my

Attempted ascent into wisdom.

And now I stand on the precipice that

Learning has lifted me to,

Trying to uncover the stream source

And find it a windy crag,

A tiny, slippery ledge

Amid confusing clouds that clutter the view

And do not satisfy the soul.

But then my gaze falls below

And sees Your grace flowing

In the valleys of humiliation.

The refreshment I sought comes

Only through grace flowing downward

Not men scaling upwards.

Along with others I kneel with scooped hands

Lavishing in Your abundance.

Some others might think me wise when

They see my scrapes and scars,

But what a fool I had been to so impoverish my soul,

And how much higher could I have climbed

Were I supplied with Your life.

The wrong was not to have scaled

But to have climbed to find Your grace

That runs so freely in the valley.

Now I kneel and hear the gentle bubble

So profound to my soul echo in my ears,

“Jesus loves me, this I know…”

Poetry

A Tree Story

July 2nd, 2012

A Tree Story

A tree grown tall from summer’s grace

Stood stately, strong, alone

Amid the flora of the wald

Her bark was hard as stone

For years she stood unequalled in

Her beauty, strength, and style

Her roots pushed down, her arms stretched up

And made her Maker smile

Woodcutters came one fateful day

To say where she would plunge

And marked the cuts upon her bark

Her being to expunge

The first saw rakes could hardly break

The bark so thick and rough

She still stood tall without a shake

When to her core they struck

She who endured such cold and heat

And snow, wind, hail, and pests

Could not throw off these stubborn men

Who planned where she would rest

Denial seemed the tact to take

At first it worked quite well

But then she felt her weakened trunk

And swooned and swayed and fell

The crack clapped hard throughout the wald

When severed from her base

She tore through all her neighbor’s limbs

And slapped the earth in haste

The finest things she ever did

Was stand when storms blew hard

And sheltered birds in woodened arms

And spread her seeds afar

But next to these was when she fell

And made her grounded dent

She passed in peace without complaint

When down to earth she went

David Packer,

July, 2012

Poetry