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gnarled hands ignited,
with the maelstrom of belief.
knotty knees do bend.
unseen, the heavens
opened up, did look beyond
the darkness of earth,
to see a pin drop.
ancient one, in the gnarled woods,
God is drawn to you.
the straw in haystack -
most dwellers go through back doors,
but she’s kneels in church -
with bent frame, eyes shut,
a prayer shawl around shoulders,
cold, yet immersed in light.
with lanterns, she joins
others in trimming their wicks -
firestorm of belief.
a humble leader -
behold, lifetime membership
in peaceful dwelling.
many are the weeds -
celebrate on holidays,
they’re pregnant with bread and wine.
she’s not at the bar -
look for her at the altar
with her rough gnarled hands.
on arthritic knees,
she’s closest to the Savior -
he sees her asking
and He draws closer
to see ev’ry tear that falls
begging “one more soul…”
Christ gives her what she asks for.

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