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Broken Engines
A Poem About The Sufficient
Our lives are like a car
Sipping in the mud
In need of repair;
We hope we are on the road
To God.
We could get out and push
But it is an old ten-ton clunker,
And we might get a mile or two.
We hope our trunk full
Of tithes and gifts
Will pay the toll.
But our currency
Does not impress Him
Or else He would be no God-
Or very small.
Just as a weak cup of thin coffee.
Leaves one empty
We plod a well-worn path
Dragging the car behind,
In spite of all our efforts
No one arrives.
For
Arrival is not a toll to be paid,
But it is by being carried
In the arms
Of Him who repairs lives.
