I admire people with the gift of poetry I am thinking of those who can turn everyday events and words into verses that amuse, tug on heart strings and inspire, verses that say it all. Not all poets are paid, and not all poems are published but many a requested copy has been lovingly tucked away in a bible or a treasured book to be read over and over again. Poems meet a need, feed a hunger, some are so inspired that the writer seems to have been touched by the Master’s hand.
Mary Oliver said, “Poetry isn’t a profession, it’s a way of life. It’s an empty basket: You put your life into it and make something out of that.’
An empty basket, makes me think…
Where did the baskets come from?
In Matthew’s Gospel, chapter 14, we are told how John the Baptist had been beheaded and that John’s disciples bought the news to the Jesus, and Jesus took his disciples away by themselves in a boat to a lonely place, where perhaps Jesus intended to console them. Of course the word got around and crowds of people made their way around the lake on foot, and when our Lord stepped ashore he saw them and pitied them, taught them and healed those who were sick. Time slipped away and evening came. There was no nearby town for the crowd to buy food, so Jesus fed them, taking 5 small loaves and 2 fishes he blessed the food and gave it to the disciples to distribute to that vast crowd. Now, I don’t question that my Lord could feed that 5,000 men plus women and children, I know some folk think that the generosity of the boy who gave up his own meal inspired every one else to bring out their stashed away supplies, people will think what they will think… I know Jesus feeds us… but the bible doesn’t tell us who gave, or loaned those 12 baskets that the disciples took around after the meal to collect the food left over. Perhaps the baskets belonged to the 12 disciples? The bible doesn’t say.
If our poems are empty baskets waiting for us to put in the scraps of our lives, pegging out the washing, washing up, the chores, birthdays, anniversaries, laughter,sorrow, and out come beautiful crafted works to treasure; what will happen if we let Jesus put his Life into the empty basket of our life?
Something very beautiful I would imagine. Perhaps, it may well be a silent poem, with no words. For none may be needed, all being said and said very well indeed by the loving, kind, gentle, strong and holy person that God through his Spirit would handcraft in us, He is after all the Author of eternal life and Jesus the very Word!
Now, where did I put that empty basket?
Fresh Whispers 