How strange a feeling

To feel so strongly the call

That it rings in my ears and my heart

It races about my mind and lights up my soul

And yet, to be burdened by my own ineptitude

Surely God calls those who are not enough

No one is perfect, this we know for certain

But my failings are numerous and broad

I have wonderful gifts and strengths

But they seem only to scratch the surface of my call

Do I doubt this strong push, my call?

Perhaps I heard it wrongly

That I made manifest this propulsion

That the path laid before me is missing my feet

That I forge ahead into divergence from ultimate good

I do not doubt my call...

Perhaps I am not humble enough

These failures and faults should not be lamented

But celebrated as signs I am not enough

And in this lack God's work is made manifest

Or perhaps I need more resilience

To weather the constant stumbling of inexperienced feet

My knees and elbows growing calloused from catching my many tumbles

That I must assume my palms will be imbedded with gravel as I push myself up again and again

And perhaps all this bemoaning and sighing services me nothing

Or that I am missing the mark to my missing the mark

My head is a swamp...

But I suppose much life springs from and thrives in swamps...

Maybe I am to live in a swamp then

Letting bullfrogs, herons, catfish, mosquitoes, and dragonflies rule the space of my call...

What does that even mean?

What a mess I am...

Spirit, You have a lot of work ahead of You...

I can hardly write a proper poem much less be an effective agent of love, healing, and hope in the world...

I will breathe and try to do my best; You're on for the rest...