PC: Michael Smith

By Ric Hudgens

Walking round my neighborhood
this autumn morning
I recognized a hundred homes
in my sight and on my mind
where if I knocked on the door
there would be welcome and a meal
shared from the heart of their hospitality.

What a miracle.

When I bow my head
gratitude arises
from a deep aquifer of blessing,
a palette of emotion
splashes across my sky
full of bright yellows and dark,
disturbing blues and purples;
all of it given – all of it gift.

Twelve months can hold so much
living spread out so thin
it disappears absorbed
into the soil of memory.

I don’t do apologetics;
don’t promote sophisticated arguments
for the existence of any god
nor feel the need for you to believe in
a being big enough to hold all this intensity
I throw their way.

I merely testify.

A half-life of familiar certainties
can be turned upside down
yet all may still be well.

Don’t dismiss the extra ordinary
nor overlook the quotidian mask
of wonder unfolding every single day.

We are rich in grace.

We can find what we need.