Sunday Morning

Not in the mood for celebration
or coffee hour,
I search for solitude;
I search for God.
Leaning against the back wall of the church
noticing the old trees which line the lot,
branch tips fresh, spring green.
Old, yet still growing.
Their growth sprouts out from the tips,
especially from the top.

God's love grows like this.
On the edges, the margins,
on the tips.
It is where the freshness is.

The roots, the trunk, the branches
may all be necessary for new growth.
But it is in the freshness
of the new
that the love of God springs.

Now do you understand?

"What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it?"