May 142012
 

I’ve been kind of limping toward the end of my seminary career these last several weeks, and have been absent from blog land. In a few weeks I’ll be done, and plan to be back to be back rambling on about them clattering bones.
Until then….this poem seemed particularly appropriate. Peace.

“I Worried,” by Mary Oliver

I worried a lot.  Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
 
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
 
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
 
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
 
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up.  And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

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