Not some finely-tuned superpower,
Or aggressive weapon we wield with pride,
Not some glossy trophy we polish from time to time,
Or a badge of honour for impressing others.
But a simple, fragile gift,
Untidy, ragged, messy at times,
Often seems to be barely there,
Slipping away like water on parched earth.
Always precious, to be handled with care.
Like a favourite bag in which we carry
Our hopes, dreams, fears, questions,
Frustrations, doubts, anxieties and wonder.
On a road that meanders and twists,
Inviting us to take another step
Though the going is surprising.
Like a bar of soap at times too,
Just as we take hold it slips from our fingers,
So that the taking hold becomes a lifelong pursuit.
Faith. A currency of life. A window on another world.
The assurance of things we may not clearly see. Yet.
Hebrews 11 v 1