Wet leaves and smell of earth,
My hands thaw just like the ground,
Spring makes them warm and eager to work
Eager, like the the sons I bore,
Inflating bike tires, clearing leaves, polishing mitts,
Checking on the lawn mower, scooter, boat
The legs of a little boy
Pedaling a bike, with confidence now
Pumping speed and power and freedom
Self-propelled exhilaration
Flying through mud puddles
Taking corners too fast
Bloody, muddy, red-faced pride
The fear mixed with joy on his face as we bike into the neighborhood
“Is this the farthest I’ve ever gone?
Does Marcus ever go this far? How old was Eldon when he did this?”
and the question behind the questions,
“Am I ok? Do I have what it takes mom? Do you see me? Am I making it?”
Oh yes, my son, I see, and yes, you are wonderful indeed.
Wonderful are His works, and I see the feminine one
Sitting on the swing with her book
She needs not affirmation, but independence
And great places to read,
And music that sings the constant noisy euphoria
That marks this stage of her life
Oh God, let this joy linger awhile
The sound of church bells and daddy’s leaf blower
Music both, the glory of God resounding
As the earth awakens
And His people tend the patch of ground He has given
Making temporary homes upon the dirt
From which they were taken,
To which they shall return.
Cold earth warms and life springs forth
The gospel, sown in sorrow, grows and lives
The fragrance wafting throughout the world
Of Jesus, sown and yet alive to serve and tend
Our Gardener, oh, Gardener tend us still!
Dirt to dirt, yet in your hands alone we live
Take this ground, this home, all that we are and have
Do with it what you will;
be our Father still.
