In the wallet of my heart
between snippets of secret treasures, valuables,
I carry a few favorite snapshots.
See, here is my son age two with this crazy green
plastic crate crowning his head.
My grandmother with a blouse of cheerful red
enthroned upon her white antique chair, smiling
her benevolent delight on Christmas morning.
My man walking the church aisles on our wedding day,
an elegant black cane in his left hand.
My father waves to me from the gulf shore,
a wide blue ocean at his back, waves peaking in silver foam.
Layered, stuck in deeper than these memories,
I pull out word pictures formed from holy scripture.
Christ tousling a young child’s wavy hair
in blessing on a barren hillside.
His sun-tanned hand reaching to touch a leper’s scabbed pride,
calloused fingertips wiping tears from Mary’s sorrow-ravaged face.
His calm gaze of understanding compassion
at Peter’s self-disgrace, and into mine—
His nod from the clouds, an encouragement for me to follow Him.
A glimpse of glory, of wonder,
the rainbow benediction before an ark invites my very eyes
to pause before His album, the Word open,
the view immeasurable— portraits of Holy God.
c.Darlene Moore Berg