A Memory

When I was five, my family went on a trip across country. We camped out at a ton of places, one of which was on the Snake River in Wyoming. I have a vivid memory of standing on the edge of the water in front of our campsite and skipping stones with my brother, Nick, who is 7 years older than me, and my sister, Liz, who is 6 years older. I have been privileged and proud to watch my siblings grow up and make their choices as I make mine. This poem tries to use that memory to get at (among other things) how glad I am that no matter what paths our lives take, we are still family. Liz and Nick, this poem is ours. I love you both.


Snake River
(For Nick and Liz)

I can only assume that
Nick must have started it,
Then Liz, then me.

We stood at the edge
Of a swift and shallow stream,
Selecting stones judiciously

Then casting them out across
The water to count their steps
Before gravity took them under.

Each choice was irrevocable—
Once released, bound to fall below
The constant, rushing current

And join the droves of decisions
Already thrown by man or God,
Dissolving into the sand beneath our feet.

For all the fighting, the long ride bickering
About every nothing that masquerades
As anger and frustration,

We stood there on the bank
Of the Snake River, side by side by side,
And picked our destinies together.

swamped, drained, inspired.

I wish I had more time to write lately. Unfortunately, school has been quite demanding recently, and in the free time I do get, I can't really bring myself to open a notebook and think really hard for an hour. The most frustrating part about it all, though, is that I have so much I want to write about. There is so much ambition, I just don't know really how to harness it.
Recently, this is all I've been able to muster. The title changes pretty much every time I write it out.

To Move Mountains

I'd be content to see
a mustard seed turn over
in a gentle breeze.



—It's very short; very simple. I was talking to a friend about "faith-sized" requests in prayer. It's the idea that with whatever amount of faith we have at a given moment, there are things we can ask of God—things with tangible results (like "God please give me the opportunity to talk to this person before Friday")—that are proportionate to that amount of faith. If we pray and have complete faith in the fulfillment of those prayers, God will answer us in one way or another.
The gist of the poem, then, is that if with faith the size of a mustard seed we can make a mountain move into the sea, I must have a long way to go. At best, I might have enough faith to move the mustard seed. The mustard seed is not only a reference to the proportionate size difference from the mountain, but it is also the representation of faith. As such, the poem is also a prayer, that God could use what faith I do have in Him to begin to move and grow that seed, causing it to build upon itself. The mustard seed is a double metaphor, I suppose.