Of Dirt And Sun

I am rugged and worn, like the beam stuck hearth, 

A splinter-man, I cut and dig, 

And you, my surface. 

Finger the print, time's mark upon my age and see

The acorn-me, my form and twig, 

And you, my warmth. 

I try to incarnate the me, neath dirt and root and scree, 

To dull the splinter touch, to smooth the ragged rough of me. 

For the cold taught me warmth,

The dark, how to push,

Toward the whistling light breaking through, 

Toward, upward, further, still. 

Until I crack the the black horizon 

And spill, 

Into the flooding wave of you; 

Brave for the journey, 

Strong to withstand, 

Gloried by affection, 

A holy land. 





Tim's authored four books, including Longing For More: Daily Reflections on Finding God in the Rhythms of Life. He and his wife, Christine, co-founded The Edges and live in Charlotte, North Carolina with their three pixie-daughters. Sign-up here to follow their work.