Thoughts at the Oxford Inn
I used to be taken with simple sights.
The curve of a glass bulb, the straight line of an upright pole,
The romance of an antique street lamp.
I also used to be satisfied with what others thought about God.
What my relationship with Him was like, what His intentions are for us.
But now I see the layers of a mountain range, ones close and ones far,
The contrast of light on each succeeding peak, the shades of greens and blues
And grays as they overlap only in my sight
But remain separated by miles and miles.
And now I am satisfied that He just is. The I Am.
And that stirs in me my own questions and desires to know
What He asks of us,
And what He wants for us,
And how has He made the way known to us?
Why is it just so?
Or is it?
Where are the peace and joy and suffering and meekness and dependence?
How do we do this?
