Time

Morning sun creeps over the horizon 

coloring the mountain's face with pink and gold, 

snow, deeper than it looks, reflecting the brightness, 

reflecting the days that have passed -

so few for me, so many for it. 

A millennium, is it, since it's life began?

And mine, just a blink, a flicker in the cellulose of time.

Today I'm faced with empty calendar pages - 

to fill, to organize, to plan.

All my good intentions to be set down on paper.

How best to fill my days?

What will feed me, and those I love?

But what is a plan in the light of Providence, for we know

we plan our ways, 

but do not direct our own steps.

So I'll plan in pencil, eraser close at hand.

And watch the unfolding as it comes.

I wish I could plan no more hurt for you, 

no more hard lessons. 

I wish I could hold out my hand to you, 

but my own hurt stays my reach.

Hear me anyway, across the miles, 

saying I love you in a cowardly whisper,

afraid of your pain.

And plan on my love following you as you journey.

You may not hear my footsteps,

but I'm not far behind,

trying to catch-up so I can help shoulder your burden,

watching the mountain,

waiting for God to do the work in me.