Come to My Mountain

“Come to My Mountain,” the words circled in my head,

I ignored it, of course, to cut my fingernails in bed.

A day already planned, jam-packed and quite full,

No time to climb mountains or act like a fool.

I’m going to the mountain,” a stranger hollered down,

“Wanna come? I can wait till you get your things ‘round.”

“Not now,” I replied, as I jerked at a weed,

“You can plainly observe my veggies going to seed.”

 

“Come to My Mountain,” the voice groused again.

“Go away!” I mumbled, “Would this day never end?”

“My children need guidance, the house is a wreck,

“There’s no time to dawdle or sit on the deck.”

Thus so it went, in tedious fashion,

Hours, then weeks and then months without passion.

The garden half weeded; still housecleaning needed,

While all of the time, my soul languished unheeded.

 

Day in and Day out, I struggled to comply

To the daily regimen of a week gone by,

I wake up each morning, one question at my hand,

Would my chores ever be finished, my vegetables canned?

“But chores never are,” answered the voice in my head,

“So come to my mountain and find peace instead.”

I looked at my house, at my garden and kids,

Their eyes just so hopeful; their love, oh, so big.

 

“Let’s go to the mountain,” I sighed as we packed,

And we walked out the door; the dishes still stacked.

“Come sit on My Mountain,” Our Father offered again,

“And you will have peace…a peace without end.”

We walked up that mountain, my children and I,

And sat at the feet of the One in the sky.

My chores and my garden still clamor for time,

But my children and I have found a more pleasanter clime.

akiane

(art by Akiane)

©Bcfk

4-29-06

 

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