Spiritual poems and ponderings

Rock

When Moses said, when David said, when the Bible says, when the song says, when I say…

That ‘The Lord is my Rock’,

What do you think of?

 

Do you picture a mountain?

Standing proud, chasing clouds

Challenging you to scale its heights

Overcome fears

And share the view?

 

Do you think of a craggy cave

With secret crevices in which to hide?

Dark depths that hold no threat

A fortress against the enemy

A refuge in which to rest until the storm has passed

 

Do you think about the rocks that lie mismatched

Crosshatched

Along river beds or cliff bases?

Beckoning you to clamber over them

To feel their surfaces beneath your feet and hands

Each one wears its past like a map

Fractures and fissures and unexpected colours trace their origins

 

(I like a big rock with a polished coat that sits beside the sea and soaks up the sun

After a dip in icy water, I climb onto it and lie, eyes closed, lashes dripping, and feel the heat seep into my skin)

 

Or do you imagine something a lot smaller?

A rock you can fit in the palm of your hand

Like the smooth black stones my grandfather used to collect

Now that he’s gone

I keep one on the mantelpiece

My thumb strokes it

And remembers

 

Or how about a grain of sand?

Sifting through my fingers

They remind me of my insignificance

But also of a promise

And that God knows

Just like he knows the number of hairs on my head

Just like he knows whenever a sparrow falls

 

Each grain could tell a story

Each one used to be part of something bigger

-A stepping stone, a cave, a cliff, a mountain

Each one could be traced back to its father

The rock from which it came

 

BUT

Rocks shake and rocks break

They crack

Fall back to earth

They splinter and quake

And crumble and tumble

And destruct and destroy

 

And I’m not sure how safe you are and how neat a comparison this is?

But you’re not neat – are you?

Beaver said of Aslan, ‘He is not safe, but he is good’

 

And so I long

Whatever shape you come in

To be a chip off the old block

My Father

 

My rock

 

Katrina Quinn, Cornwall, summer 2013



Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


%d bloggers like this: