The Father

Father, Father of flowering fields and
hungering human hearts -
You are fire, you are flame, you are freedom;
You are searing scalpel shining.

I am ash and ache, all
Bent and bruised, and Breaking
God's good and very good;
Tromping, treading, tearing, shredding
Leaves and petals pure, leaving
Battle-scars in brothers' arms, and
gracious givers grieving.

You, You wreck the rebel raging raw, with
Love, living light, a bright
Blazing furnace burning flaws and fatal bonds.

Me you see as complete and pleasing,
A sight radiant
with the Son's rays rising.

Father, Father of faithful fumbling followers -
You joy in each breath of this, my jagged journey.