Poem December 19, 1988 Issue

Awakening

Sarah P. Dunning

How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake, I am still with thee.

(Psalms 139:17, 18)

Walking along early morning powder-white sand
Tinged with pink of dawn's unfolding,
Calm music of surf gentling the shore
Interrupted only by the staccato of sandpipers
And the occasional pelican's lumbering grace,
I marvel: how glorious is Thy creation, blessed God!

You are not only Father, Mother, Love,
creator of all, source of wisdom and joy,
You are poet, too—
we are Your poems:

Even the tender ones—with mote-shadowed eyes,
struggling to emerge from matter-dreams outgrown—
in the light of Your love, Christ-washed,
are already free.

And every single one of Your precious ones—
not unfulfilled, for the Christ-in-them
is already here.

The sparkling child, wondrous, pure-in-heart,
seeing You and living in Spirit—now—
one in Soul's radiant, rainbow beauty:
All are glorifying their author.

Thank you, Father, Mother, poet,
for this holy glimpse
along the crystal shore.

Sarah P. Dunning

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