Slow Gods

The icon lives in a museum,
gold gilt, the paint a bit faded with age.

A part of me, always the restorer,
wants to take brushes and cleaners
and begin the work of making it new.

But, perhaps it is not meant to be new.
Perhaps we are not meant to be new,
without the scars of struggle and time showing.
Perhaps, probably, they are meant to show,

to tell the story of a slow God,
a God of patience, willing to wait
for us to find our truest way,
the way he meant, not as a museum piece,
but as art nonetheless.

About this poem.

I started this poem about six times this morning, erasing and starting over with new words and stanzas and rythmns. I could not find the right combination to say what I wanted to say. But I did eventually.

I have come to appreciate a slow God, whose patience has let me grow into whatever I am right now. A slow God who has let me fail in order to understand and grow, rather than swoop in to fix things without me growing in the process. A slow God who comes to me when I am able to slow down, forcing me to do just that, when it is not my nature to slow down. God is good.

The picture is from the Russian Icon museum in Clinton, Mass. One of the first things my wife and I found we had in common was a love of Russian icons. I have no idea how that came up in a new relationship, but there you go.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom