by Peter Notehelfer

The grass bends with the wind.
It does not break.
I wonder, does it ever flower? 
Or does it thrive along the beach simply
by extending its roots through the sand?
Like the sea it too is a shelter
for countless creatures of God.
I saw a pheasant land not far from here
and disappear into the grass.
And the little coastal deer
that live down by the pond
make in that grass their bed.
A hawk flies low, hunting mice.
If they are careful they will escape.
God has a marvelous sense of grace!
That something so ordinary as grass
should also serve as his sanctuary!
What peace comes to me tonight
simply watching the rippling waves
made by the wind as it passes
over the bending grass
in whispering benediction.
There are people in my life
who, when hard pressed,
will not break, but bend.
Who thrive not by powerful personality
but by quiet, patient persistence.
And who shelter within their sanctuary
all manner of living things . . . even me.
May the wind whisper their peace . . .


One Comment to “Peace”

  1. the ordinary saints among us…

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