Pawn moves to…..

This morning is like too many others,
you look across the landscape
of your life, aware

of how often you have been played
like a child’s game, so obviously
a mere piece

in a game much larger
than your vision can take in.
a game not your own

and played far better by others.
What else explains the Dickenesque
twists and turns,

dizzying highs and falls
that rip the heart from your soul
and toss it about

like a feather in the wind,
helpless, lost, torn
by those you counted on saving you,

unaware who in the game
is truly friend or foe.

The game goes on, not for hours
or days, but years,
and slowly, oh so slowly,

you come to realize not just how small
you are, but patterns
in the movement of the pieces,

yourself and others,
and you grasp that your help,
that the player who moves you

is a master. He sees
beyond the horizon, beyond
your own feeble imagining,

his visioning remembering every move
of every piece from the beginning, and more,
he sees how the game unfolds,

how it ends, and most importantly,
your part in the final victory, allowing you to
ride the wind

in peace.

About the poem

I am 57. Part of me doesn’t like being 57. Things don’t work the way they used to. I can’t run and work all night without paying for it the day after. It would be nice to have hair with color instead of gray. Heck, it would be nice to have more hair, period.

But this part of me really loves being 57:  I’ve seen a lot happen in my life and in the life of others. And I’ve seen how the crazy randomness of life is so often not random at all, that each experience (good or bad) is often preparing us for something that comes to us weeks, months or years later. And that often the very things that seem to be beating us up so badly in life are in fact, a help…. a gift that later in life we can be grateful for.

It is easy for it to all feel random, taken day by day. But watch. Pray. Listen, and slowly you see things as you age that you can’t see when you are 25.

Thank goodness. And thank God.

Tom

PS: The photograph was taken at the Southern Vermont Arts Center. Those jacks are nearly as tall as I am.

About these Lenten Poems

My friend Cathy Benson is on to something. Instead of doing without for Lent, she is doing MORE with a prayer project that is thoughtful and caring.

Giving up something for Lent is a church tradition, not a biblical command. It was designed to get our minds and hearts right as we approach the holy week and Easter. It’s a good spiritual discipline.

But I think a spiritual discipline of doing something more is also a powerful way to prepare our hearts for Easter. The Methodists, through their “Rethink Church” initiative have come up with a photographic way to do this (see below). I am going to add a poem with each image for the lent season to help prepare myself. Feel free to glom on to the idea, visit the blog and read, or share your thoughts and prayers.