On Knowing God
Just a piece of weathered wood,
once part of a great tree, a tall oak
spreading toward the blue sky.
How did it come to be swept
onto this sandy beach, beaten by waves,
barnacled, the smell of the distance
clinging to its nooks and crannies?
Walking in the dunes, searching
for shells and the evidence of God,
we know the loneliness of logs
taking cover under moss,
all truth of their beings hidden
under layers of salty water
and the memory of rain.
Only on our knees, the ocean’s mist
fanning our faces, do we peel
away our own layers, open the core
of our being to the One whose truth
is everywhere, even in the cast-off bits
of a mighty oak now twirling in front of us
on a distant shore.
April 20, 2013