By No Means The End

This thing that mattered so much 

has splintered into a thousand shards,

leaving me dazed and battle scarred,

senses reeling to make sense of the lurch:

Is this the prod of demonic shaft

or angels changing course far away?

I will trust and assume to the letter the latter

and cry, “bring more good from this surprising clatter

than if things had wound their second-rate way.”

With sumptuous grace You turn things round,

till the dolesome rings to a wholesome sound

that confounds my fears and unfounded objections,

my ill-informed slurs and foolish aspersions.

I protest in dismay, ‘Anything but this – anywhere,’

But Your path never leaves me the worse for wear,

so I return once more to cry, ‘Forgive my reluctance,

and cross-grained belligerence.'

All You want is to send Your best,

so I gladly accept Your way with zest;

for where I see only adders

You place and purpose ladders.

When doors appear to close

If handled aright, the passing of this stage

need induce no futile rage,

for adjusting the direction of my gaze 

I glimpse the dawning of another phase

that our far-sighted Lord

is drawing toward.

This thing we counted on

is well and truly gone,

so help us softly to explore

the hope that lies beyond this shuttered door,

that in Your great and manifest tenderness

You open with such prompt and ready happiness.

Adjust – accept – move through –

Your resources are never too few

to meet the needs our hearts require

as we pass through dark and wilder mire

en route to the fuller vocation

that will, in time, make its mark on the nation.

Robert Weston