I am like a field before my Creator: He gives the soil of my substance.
I take it.
I take: seeds, water, light, spirit.
Then, out of the soil, a harvest!
Glorious! A mystery. That any fruit – any moment of kindness, love, joy – would grow… from me?
Yet, wonder one moment, turns into greed the next.
And I become a field, rolled up into itself,
protecting the very miracle I took from Someone else.
Unroll me, Spirit of God.
Harvest, glean, survey this field.
Take from my taking.
– by Laura