The Harvest

The ground was hard and cold

that afternoon the doctor called.

“The loss is now complete,” she said

(like she knew what loss was).


I looked down at the stony dirt,

trying so hard to form a thought.

What sane ideas could come to life, though,

here on this barren sod?


As heavy drops fell to the earth

turning it darker still,

my vision doubled, then grew dark:

no insight to His Will.


My arms grew cold and restless

their hope suspended, yet again.

I thought to cross them on my breasts,

but could not bear that pain.


Pondering this odd dilemma, then:

What to do with these hands?

I glanced again upon the ground

and tried to understand…


…how there could be a little stalk

where just now was pebbled ground.

Wary, I sought some other soul.

But there was none around.


Just me, then, and this growing stem

Still stretching, even now;

then sprouting leaves and branches

faster than Nature allowed.


Soon it had grown to just my height.

It seemed that all was done.

But then some little buds appeared

In hues of midday sun.


They grew as fast as had the tree

Abundant, full and bright.


but not


Each fruit an awful sight.


I wondered what all this could mean,

staring up at the clouds.

“What’s with all these malformed lemons?”,

I asked of God aloud.


The answer came then, swift and sure

(like He was waiting there)

“You have so many lemons

because you’re called to share.


“True, they’re twisted, lumpy… sour.

But is that so important, though?”

He said, “My love, I wish you’d share them

with some soul who’s running low.”


So much pain, such grief, so long

uncertain what to do.

But now I know that their worth lies

in sharing them…

with you.


My prayer is that we’ll harvest soon

The sweet fruits that we’ve sown.

But if lemons are all you reap,

please know…

you’re not alone.



May 24, 2014 – RIP Peanut (#3)



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