I am the Ground
I am the ground.
The plow cuts deep,
again and again and again!
It cuts away my roots,
my desires to be ‘altogether,’
my desires to look good.
It turns me over, inside out,
till I am a mess of crumbly soil.
The rains come; seeds are planted.
I miss the lovely pasture I used to be,
with calves frolicking in the sunshine,
butting heads, coming to me for nourishment.
Here I lie, useless and alone — except for this farmer
who constantly runs over me with his tractor, seeding, cultivating.
I am changing.
I finally recognize the farmer.
“Lord, do with me as you choose, for I belong to you.
Plant the seeds, cultivate out the weeds, send the sunshine and rain.
Oh Lord of the harvest, may I yield abundantly for you whatever crop you choose.”
—Judith Vander Wege
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