Sunday, February 01, 2009
The old stone wall’s a miracle
Uneven rocks row on row
Without a bit of mortar
Yet each with a place to go.
How did the mason reckon it
So that the top would be on the level
Did he just suddenly start assembling
Or use a line and bevel?
And what faith he had whilst building
That malice or weather would forego
The temptation to topple it over
Tumbled all down in the snow.
It set me in mind of a Builder
Working with just mere flesh and bone
To put his Body together
When commonsense would leave it alone.
Each person’s uneven, irregular
No two are exactly the same
And yet in composing his Temple
He stamps each one with his name.
Without cement, or mortar
Only care in construction would do
Whenever your raising God’s household
Only love will serve as glue.
I slowly inspected the rock wall
And how large and small both alike
Had been piled apparently haphazard
Yet each bit rose up the same height.
I guess it’s a lesser miracle
Than the one more difficult to see
How a Builder joined us together
From now, ‘til eternity.
I decided to stop scrutinizing,
Criticizing its funny ole shape
And just celebrate the marvel
Of how the Rock repaired our landscape.
Feb. 1, 2009