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Poem


My Work 


I wonder why we call it “work”, 
	When it is, quite obviously…

Something we love to do, something more than “work”
Something tender and true, a poem – a song – our muse

It is more than “work” because it breathes
	From the spirit living deep within
		From the heart who hears – His voice
Offering a new word, a new hope, a new promise
Offering healing, feeling, revealing…
	All the beautiful in our story, our journey, our truth
		All the wonder and music – the beauty of our muse

It isn’t really work at all – it is, indeed, such joy
	To create, craft, build from the heart and soul
		A design, art, an original – by our spirit, 
			By the wings that fly, when we let go
And listen to that muse who reveals the when and why…

It is not “work” – it is joyful and gentle,
	The abiding of a peace within
		The wonder of believing – imagining
Creating something beautiful from only our own dreams
Crafting something amazing, that tells the story of our soul
Forming – remembering that He formed us… from the dust

In His image, He created the first man… breathed into Him
	Oh, He had such a plan… 
		He “worked” six days 
Then rested, relaxed, let go – so we can, too…
	But, oh, such joy… in the work, the word, the muse
		Such unending joy, in knowing God is love
Such amazing joy in knowing God will lead us on…

Yes! God will lead us home!

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