by the Rev. Carol Morehead
Like the crisscrossing trunks of the trees on the lawn
my mind wanders here and there.
Grounded by my roots
of what it means
to believe, to worship, to be the body of Christ
but growing upward toward open sky.
New horizons pull me to the blue.
Sometimes I feel separated from the root,
or split, as these trees are,
into two arches reaching skyward and sometimes weighing each other down.
All those branches grow each spring
with leaves prolific,
an ever expanding canopy that
filters the sun and the rain
to the green grass below.
How can I resist growth and yearn for it at the same time?
I feel both weary and alive,
tired of upward movement
yet energized to see farther into myself,
into this crazy world.
A restlessness that never leaves me,
that I must use,
toward the elusive Something More . . .
I’ve grown pale these many years,
settling at the roots and ignoring the sun that always calls my name.
I turn to the dark,
prefer the cloudy days.
The light hurts my eyes;
it scares me to have to look at myself in such
And yet this call,
to move toward what was always meant to be,
toward the pain and surrender of being myself,
of living into who I am and am to be.
I can no longer bear the safety of silence,
must move into the light,
must feel the stretch of bone and muscle as they grow,
the flex of movement.
This tension is leading me
toward myself, toward the world.
The holding back is hurting me now.
And so I let go.
I fall into the open sky,
into the great Unknown,
and I begin to dance, heart and soul,
to the divine Rhythm of call and celebration and creation made