The Builder Levels Me

R. Michael Spangler
Aug 5 · 1 min read

I’m the firefly boasting of his tail to the sun.
Better off is the child crying for milk.

I was building a castle to the highest clouds.
It was made of my finest sand.

And you leveled it like
a crashing wave.
And me with
Your plow.

Over and over.
Again and again.
Through and through.
Left in desolation’s wake.

Was it because your anger grew?
Or, could it be your mercy anew?

You said you’re preparing a home for me,
A home of many rooms.
I’ll let go of pride to let you be,
The master-builder of what I can’t see.

I long for your embrace,
To feel your gentle, gritty hands.
Not as Thomas, for proof.
But as a child, for comfort.

What is, is not what ought and a
Plentiful redemption is coming.
The groaning land will be fruitful again.
Weary people will have rest again.
Wary people will be secure again.

My hope is in the Lord.
My hope is in the Lord.

Written by

UX designer and poetry writer who enjoys the study of theology and culture. Husband and dad. Read slowly. Soli Deo Gloria.

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