Broken branches

It is heartbreaking how so many of our parents and grandparents have lost themselves to age. Sometimes we feel that we cannot reach them anymore. Perhaps these are the times we must let the Spirit intervene when our groans are too deep for words (Romans 8:26).

God bless.

“Broken branches”

Beyond the miles of a failing mind
you wait with a sun-tanned hand on the telephone.
On partly-cloudy days
you break through the forecast.
The voice of an oak comes through the line.
You have long, deep roots, but the branches are broken
and the leaves fall into a pile of memories I collect for you
and hold in my library.
When you need your stories I will pull them off the shelves,
leaf through to the right page, and let loose the perfect, musty scent
of knowledge printed long ago.

You were the arms that carried me,
and the burden that I carry.

I have asked God why, but He does not respond.
There is no why. I must ask a new question.
I hear you fall again, another branch lost to the wind.
On my knees gathering wood and leaves, I am beneath
what once sheltered me but the canopy is bare.
You summer life is gone, but mine is golden yet,
and I will pray for you in winter as you prayed for me in spring.

God who listens, God who speaks, hear our pain of tumbling leaves.
Whisper across the gap of time and words between us,
and connect our hearts with Spirit.

Creative Commons License
Broken branches by Briana Batty is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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Lilac Nation

I am shaken by the events of the past week in America, but I remain encouraged by the many people to whom I’ve spoken who are ready now more than ever to fight for unity and justice in this country. I still choose to believe that we as a people can seek wholeness. We do not have to let the dark and divisive rhetoric of this year be the norm. Instead, let us strive to heal through communication, love, and open hearts.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Lilac Nation”
For unity
 
Young one, how fear has grated
your branches into brittle fingers curling
inward, terrified to embrace the wind of todays and
tomorrows. Your leaves are meant
to shade and shelter, your red, white, and blue flowers
to surprise the earth with fruitful promise. Yet in storm’s
wake I see your proud colors crying out
in red pain and blue smoke,
as your trunk parts
down the center, flowerless.
 
Young one, let your leaves return.
Soak in wind and water and courage, and
let your branches bloom anew with all
your colors as one:
a vibrant, lilac nation.
 
 
Creative Commons License
Lilac Nation by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.