The Gift
He takes the grain and with loving Hands
Sifts the kernels and the worthy seed
From the chaff, the worthless husks of refuse.
Why can we not accept that the chaff no longer remains?
That it is tossed, thrown mercifully away!
Removed as far as the east is from the west.
But instead, the chaff clings
Itching, irritating, preventing, stifling, smothering
Destroying us with its intangible power ~
Clinging to the inner chambers of our minds
Eroding our souls with torment and ridicule
Permeating our memories with useless dribble
Existing only in erroneous imagination
Imagery of a killing sort.
We are forgiven.
Why can we not embrace the Gift?
And truly live in creative Love for one another
Living, enjoying, growing
In the nourishing Light of His everlasting mercy.
cailin raine
I wrote this piece in 1984, with pencil and paper, on my kitchen table at Beaver Meadows, above the Beaver Valley. I named that sweet, country, fifty acres, "Beaver Meadows" because the back part of the property was swampy and full of all kinds of critters, including the beavers that would build dams. We had to go back and pull out the dams, as we did not enjoy the green water that would start coming from the showerhead. But it was an oasis for me, after leaving a marriage from hell. We lived there for three years, three weeks, and three days. It was a time of huge spiritual growth, intense involvement with church, choir, and Sunday School.... it felt like a purging of all I had gone through. People would come to visit and they would say things like, " It feels so Peaceful here!" It was a Gift. And the poetry that came to me was a Gift... this piece just displayed itself word by word, on the paper.... it came from Somewhere... thru me, my hands, my pencil and now into the blogging world of the 21st century. Now it becomes my gift to you.
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