The unmowed lawn.

(Warning: this might be poetry.  i'm not real sure.  For the record, i don't even have a lawn.)

Father, forgive me, i know not what to do.

i’m surrounded by work that needs to be done.  

There’s a gathering tsunami of work coming.

i hate what i do.

i want to do something else.

What should i work on?

i’m not an artist.

i’m not an illustrator.

i’m not a writer.

i won’t be a carpenter for much longer.

i won’t be much longer.  Maybe i’m half way through?  

i don’t know.  

Do you care what i do?

Do you care about me?

i know you love me.

i have all the proof i need in Jesus.

i know you know me, i have all the proof i need in your word.

So who am i to you?  What am i to you?

The breeze stirs the trees.  The leaves whisper but not in words.

i’m certainly not a poet.

Is it enough to just seek my next meal?  To delight in my toil and thank you?

What will i measure?  The day you set me on your scales?  What will my life weigh?  

When will i do all the things i have to do?

i think i’ll take out the garbage.

After i finish my tea.

What is a day worth?  How much time is wasted?

Is there time to spend an afternoon in thought?

How much is a thought worth?

If on one side there was a thought or a poem or a song

and on the other side of the scale, there was a mowed lawn

which would be heavier?

Which is greater?  Sweat or thought?

What if it’s a riding mower?  Is it worth more or less?

Which is the greater travesty?  And unwritten blogpost?  Or an unmown lawn?

What if the most noble thing i do today

is take the trash cans to the curb?

The tea’s gone.

The day’s gone.

The thoughts roll on.