“And the glory of
the LORD will be revealed, and all people will see it together.
For the mouth of
the LORD has spoken."
Two needles click and slide between my fingers-
Dancing, a never-ending dance, colors
Flash in the light and weave a broken pattern.
A host of loose and dangling ends hang limply
Their time and place is gone, and they are left
To swing, until the project has been finished.
A half a dozen balls lay at my side,
A few of them attached to my knitting.
They range in color, from the happy strings,
Like blue and pink and green and golden hues,
To bleaker shades, like black and grey and mauve.
At random, so it seems, they’re chosen freely
And mixed into the work, it makes a pattern,
That’s hard to see until the end is finished.
It’s like our story, living in a place,
Where we can never hope to understand
Why cruelty and hate this world will harbor
So, willing, ‘till the day He shows His plan
And turns the knotted mess into a pattern-
That only his own handiwork can make.
