Poetry Friday: The Mirror Cracks (A Poem for the Striving)

Did you read the recent article picked up by the Catholic News Agency, "Should Catholics care about poetry?" It's worth a read... The author, Mary Farrow, ultimately made the point that love for art and beauty are essential parts of being not only Catholic, but human--but that opportunities or motivation to encounter art and beauty are waning.

In today's ever-practical world, ever-driven by success and productivity, it's hard to take a moment or two to rest in beauty. I'm going to do my best to share a little bit of beauty every Friday morning--not promising it will all be my own work, so I'm sure you can all look forward to some Joyce Kilmer and Christina Rossetti. ;) I'll begin today with this poem written last year, as I needed the reminder, written for myself, that all my striving is nothing compared to my surrender.

Happy new year, friends!

My weakness stares back at me from the mirror of my life:
When my children snap and scold,
I hear my own voice reflected--tired, impatient.
When the day's tasks are left undone,
When dinner is burned,
When the page is empty, yet laundry baskets full,
All I can see is my face and form in them:
Imperfect, flawed,
Failing.

But the mirror cracks, and I know I was mistaken;
It is not a mirror, but a window
I've painted over with silvery stain until light cannot shine through.
Between the cracks, grace pours in.
My children are kind; in a sparkling moment
They are more generous than I've shown them how to be.
We can cuddle into the unfolded laundry on my bed
To share stories, fill our imaginations with beauty.
Friends gather around my burned meal, in my messy home,
And their faces shine,
Reflecting God.

I know the source of this light,
Who created me flawed, failing, and beautiful.
Yet no matter how I try,
I can't find Him by choosing and striving.
The harder I reach, the more I fail.
No, I find him when I let go.
When my plans, my glorious silvery plans, are shattered,
When I'm hit so hard by my weakness
That I fall back
Into the shimmering pool of uncertainty
And land in His arms.