The Trees of God

The Little Flower, Therese of Lisieux,

Described young lives given over to God.

Like Tarcicius, Goretti, Jacinta, and Acutis

Who bloomed early,

For a short time gave off a fragrance,

Then yielded to the Son’s compelling Presence

And died, “Little Flowers of God.”

But what of us seasoned souls?

Harkening to His call, some early, some late,

Faithfully following day in and day out,

Bearing the heat, the storms, the drought,

The ebb and flow of Presence and absence,

Sometimes sinning in the dark of night.

“Lord have mercy on me a sinner.

Let me never be lukewarm,” I cry,

As I reach into a silent sky,

With branches sometimes bare, sometimes full,

Aging seventy, eighty, even ninety years,

Waiting, growing, suffering, not knowing,

“Do I please Him? Have I done His Will?

What do all these years mean to Him?”

I name us “Trees of God.”

Unlike the flowers, we are rooted deep

In earth’s joys and pains

And responsibilities to keep,

But always reaching heavenward

And longing for the day,

When harvested by the Lord,

Our rings will tell the story

Of long lives led in His Presence.

Like, Drexel, Sheen, Pennington and Peyton,

Alive through Grace,

But scarred by this world’s darkness

As Jesus was scarred

On a Tree

On Calvary.                                                                                                                                                                         

                                                Bernice Dumitru     2018