Growth
Poem – Clare Lind
Mark 4:30-34
The wood of the nut has split.
Forced apart by swelling life
It lies in two pieces.
A shoot, disheveled, pushes upward,
Fed by the kernel
Which held its beginning—
A messy miracle of life.
What will it become?
I do not know.
Growth has its own direction,
Its own timing, its own momentum.
We are only the watchers
And the guardians.
