The Pilgrim Pauses

Pausing to rest,
Traveler examines the simple contents
of his dusty pilgrim's satchel.
In the dark folds of soft, warm leather
he finds memories, hopes, and fears
mixed amongst lessons learned
and scraps of wisdom hard-won.

He carefully selects
one tattered fragment
of his oft' tested faith,
from this precious collection,
these bits and pieces,
these gifts of grace
that he's gathered along the way.

Pilgrim confidently combines
a sacred shred of trust
with several bits of brokenness.
With an upward motion from his heart
he releases a new-formed prayer,
which is born high away,
carried on Spirit wind.

Returning to explore his purse,
his searching fingers find
many bundles enclosed in cloth,
others tied with twine.
Some confined in the creases
of his forebears' parchment sheets.
Other mementos from the way
are stored in wooden boxes.
Others are even wrapped in leaves.

As he searches he once again senses
the common threads in each:
his silent hunger for simple truth
is intertwined with silver strands
of his simple yearning to be embraced
in the pervasive Presence of the One,
to walk beneath beneficient gaze
of He Who loves him most.

He carefully unwraps
these blessed bundles
to examine them once again.
A tiny package, tied with care,
contains a portion of patience.
Each ounce hard-earned
from examining expectations,
and the fruit they always bear.

The kernel of compassionate connection
to those who walk this earth,
was forged in part, in the cruel kiln,
of pain and suffering that are a part
of the path of life we share.
But this nascent heart
was also shaped by the heavenly balm,
that Adonai sometimes provides.

A reticence to offer advice
he gained from the ghastly sight
of a thousand unintended wounds
inflicted by his thoughtless words
on hearts along his path.
The terrible taste of bitter regret
may eventually slow
even a well-intended tongue.

And deep in the recesses of his bag,
farthest from the light,
a grimy container with mottled stains,
that look quite like dried blood.
He forces himself to open the top.
A putrid stench assails his face.
This broken box of filth
is a hidden reservoir of dark truth,
the parts of him he seldom shares,
his secret heart and soul.

Closing the dark-stained lid,
he remembers the wondrous fragrance
of the One who once held him close,
He who breathed the Blessed Breath
of grace and peace and life
into the furthest depths of his dying soul;
the One to whose love he cling,
the One to whom he now belongs.

Traveler closes the battered bag,
and lifts his eyes
to the grey clouds above.
He inhales a deep, grateful breath,
and with a peaceful smile
journeys forward again,
his soul once more renewed.