I’ve often wondered: What if I’d been born
In decades, centuries before this age?
For I am nearly always out of sorts,
Bewildered as to where my path might lie,
And finding values, culture of times past
To resonate more strongly than today’s.
But then the Spirit brings this truth to mind:
The Lord, who made me, does not make mistakes;
In wisdom weaving all of history,
He works all to his glory and the good.
And neither this unsettled present age,
Nor any other, is my final home:
I know the Maker made me for himself,
And so of course my fickle heart is restless here
Until I find my lasting rest in him.
This poem … coalesced … this week from yet another recurrence of the opening thought, and then from remembering the famous line from Augustine.
As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions (perhaps of a real title for this poem?), questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you liked this poem, or you didn’t like it, or it made you think of something, or … please leave a comment to let me know.) If you liked this, you can follow this blog, which includes one of my poems every Friday, or read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with those linked from one of the “archive ” installments, since the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know, as part of my preparations for a collection, which poems you think are my best. You may also share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.
This poem is also archived on my wiki.
- “Rest” (shinecycle.wordpress.com)
- “Send not …” (shinecycle.wordpress.com)
- “Ah, for the olden days” (shinecycle.wordpress.com)