A chill creeps over me

As winter winds blow gusty

Against my quavering soul.

Brown fallen leaves

Careen with death rattle along the street,

And my spirit dries and

Blows with them into the gutter.

I feel passed up, unwanted,

Unremembered, unloved.

 ~ ~ ~

About the same time I wrote this poem, I took a walk on a beach in Oregon near my home. I picked up a piece of driftwood in the shape of a whale. One side even had an “eye.” I took it home with me and wrote on a scrap of paper: “The fury of storm and tide has made me what I am.” And, “I am what I have had the good fortune of becoming.”

I didn’t understand it right then, but much like the processes of water, wind and sand on that driftwood, the grief process was

re-shaping me. Perhaps the psalmist felt lonely and forsaken when he said, “Out of the depths have I cried unto You.” Then there’s Jonah in the darkness, helplessness, and isolation of the whale’s belly. When Jonah came out, he became one of the most successful preachers of all time. As a result of his ministry, a whole city repented and turned to God.

Someone said, “When bad things happen to good people, they

become better people.” Of many an older saint it could be said,

“Once young and carefree, now buffeted into a work of art.”

So what is your ocean, and what are you becoming? Sculptured by time and the elements, a thing of beauty? Then someday you can say, “The fury of storm and tide has made me what I am.”