Poetry

On the Palms of My Hands

Palmprint.gif
 (A reflection on Isaiah 49:8-16a)

Where is my real life?
Does it happen in this house
at the sink
in the bedroom
or in the car
talking over music
driving, always driving
or at the church
listening, proclaiming
puzzling over what's next

Who matters most to me?
My husband, traveling and coming home
My children, scattered in three states
and varying moods
trying to work out
who they are
who they love
what they want
it is not a task
for the young alone

Where is God in all this?
Zion felt forgotten
complained to the LORD
could not rejoice
–does exile last forever?
it seems that way
one thing after the other
no matter how hard we try
and even, I suppose,
when we don't.

Where is God in all this?
My husband wonders
if there are many gods,
if ours might be responsible
only for this solar system
That god would be
closer than we imagine
though still beyond our seeing
the lap we cannot outgrow

"See, I have inscribed you
on the palms of my hands."

2 thoughts on “On the Palms of My Hands”

  1. Gives me the shivers, the idea that we are inscribed upon God’s palms. That’s a real lot of care.
    Not a new image to me, mind you. Just one you’ve helped me think about as if for the first time.

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