Wrestling With God
[please note: this poem is dedicated to those who take neither the Divine nor its absence for granted.]
For almost half a century
I have wrestled with God.
Our unseen match is daily,
in my bed before I sleep,
at the table after a meal,
sometimes while driving
along a lonely, desolate road
and always while watching
the evening news with its
graphic proof of humanity's
stupidity and wickedness,
over and over and over....
I try to pin Him,
to keep Him in one place,
to hold Him just long enough
to see, to know, to understand.
Sometimes I think
I almost have Him but no...
He always, always slips away....
Of course it is not a fair match--
my little brain that can hold
but one lonely thought at a time,
my hands, once powerful,
now arthritic, with crooked fingers
still trying to grasp at Divinity...
but even when young and strong
I could not hold Him--still,
we wrestle, God and me,
and sometimes I suspect He wants
me to win, but mostly no:
I know I'll never pin Him down--
not in this life, not in this world,
yet still He lets me try....
I think He likes it when I try.
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