Ring Bearers

Several years ago I wrote the following poem in which I mused about whether humans, like trees, contain internal rings that trace our years of drought and plenty. If so, at the end of our earthly life, it would be interesting to see what our ring for 2020 looks like. Will it be a thin ring, reflecting our unslaked thirst for human touch and our fears, which shrivel every aspect of life? Or will it be a thick ring, reflecting previously untapped reserves of creativity and connection and our increased understanding that all beings are linked in the body of Christ?

To a great extent, we don’t have control over what life hands us, whether it be disease, natural disasters, the type of parenting we receive, opportunities, or the people we encounter who become our teachers and friends. However, we can always choose how we will respond to whatever we encounter, and it is this response that will determine whether our years are marked by diminishment or growth. Furthermore, as the poem indicates, every spring we can allow Easter to give us an annual infusion of joy as we revel in the good news of the resurrection of Christ, reflected in the new life bursting forth on earth.

Ring Bearer

If you were

to hew me down like a tree

you could trace

my years of drought and plenty,

but whether

the rings be thick or thin

you’ll notice

jagged spikes in the same spot

on each circle,

bursts of exuberance

prompted

by the smell of freshly tilled soil,

the season’s

first impossibly yellow daffodil,

and birdsong—

first fruits of a spring we

weren’t sure

would ever arrive,

and though the

year’s provenance has yet

to unfurl,

I know for certain it’s time

to plant peas

and turn the compost pile,

groundwork

for whatever life presents

in another

circle around the sun