Wings Will Come: Journey – Part 8 “Crossing”

This poem describes the night that we emptied all manner of furniture, tools, and other household items out of my grandfather’s house into two storage units, a task that had to be done that night due to schedules and availability of the family. It was hectic, with carloads of items to take to the units before the place closed at 10 pm. Looking back, it reminds me a bit of the crossing of the Red Sea story in Exodus 14 – a rush across a sea of unknowns in a time of great change.
In the midst of that stressful dash, my mom and I sang praise songs in the car ride, and for a moment the impossibility faded as we remembered our God and His power and love that was greater than our troubles. It’s a reminder I continue to need and often look back to.
Next week, I continue the story of my family’s move and God’s goodness in the change in the ninth poem of my collection, “Wings Will Come: Journey.”
God bless
afternoon blurs into dusk
as we tape, wrap, box, disassemble, and
carry a collection of a lifetime.
the curator watches with a breaking
heart. the sweet and acrid blend of old
pipe smoke hovers around me
in a cloud of memory.
my grandfather’s house is a
monument in my mind, as fixed
as its keeper. but now
it, too, moves: a parting sea
in the journey to new places,
and like Your ancient people,
he is afraid to cross.
movement rushes us, dragging
us, our fear, and the collection into
dashes to a storage unit
that closes at 10 pm.
every circle back for more, the clock
squeezes time tighter.
impossibility will not be our master:
windows rolled all the way down in
humid sunset air, my mother and I
cry out to You in song, as loud as we can
over our turmoil as we drive in
we remember that You give
dry ground for the crossing and that
we are in the keeping
of a Spirit who moves
and a Man who shepherds.
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Crossing by Briana Batty is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.