A Pilgrim’s Report

The truth is, there have been times
I did not recognize the tools,
much less what it was I was supposed to be building.

Nothing made sense. It was like being dropped
in a strange land in a strange time.
Not even the language you were born with

made sense. It was a lostness you can not fathom
unless of course, you have been there.
I can remember, to my bones, the feeling

that I was not meant to be in a place
I could understand, much less know my place,
and I was left to do nothing more

than be and act in faith, a blind man
in search of guides to lead me
to a fog less dense.

I will not pretend it was an easy journey.
It was not. For a man raised to be
independent and strong,

it was pretty close to hell,
or at least purgatory. It was timeless
and long and I had no idea

a man could stay that lost that long
and still emerge into sunlight.
And so, I worked from habit.

Acted in a faith I did not feel.
Allowed myself to be led like the blind man
I was. I stumbled.

Oh how I stumbled. Fell a few times.
I could show you scars, but you do not need to see them.
No one does. I don’t even like to look at them.

But I do. Because in the end I emerged into the sun.
Paths became clear. I stumbled, crawled, walked,
ran, and finally danced in the sun.

I still dance. In the sun. In the fog. Because I learned
from that first darkness, that we do emerge.
That the sun lives even when I cannot see it,

and happiness comes to the persistent,
even when we are blind.

About this poem

A pastor I once had, Carol Johnston, would sometimes replace the sermon with someone from the congregation telling their story. She called it “A Pilgrim’s Report.”, a chance for ordinary people to share their journey of faith. I always thought it was more effective than her sermons (And she was a good preacher) because we got to see that we were not alone in our struggles, and we got to see how others found their way out.

I never gave one. By the time I had enough darkness and journeys to the light to have a report, I had moved up here to Vermont.

So, in a way, this is mine.

Tom