The Sandbar In My Mind

Not every bad thing has its source in evil,
Sometimes from pain or sadness it derives;
We try our best to do what's right before us,
Sometimes it's hard to see, tears fill our eyes.

So many of my memories have a trash heap,
As one leads on another in my mind;
What starts as chain of wonder, draws another,
Until it ends beached in a darker time.

But this one's hard for me to follow through with,
It’s complex at its middle portion now;
It’s start a mask, a tangle, and confusion,
Just getting moreso as we live somehow.

I cannot stop the flow of her condition;
I cannot halt demands of daily life;
I cannot rise above this special person;
And so continues this internal strife.

I could pretend it's better for my mother
That she be cut from family support –
Another notch or two to cut the bother,
But we all know what's mixed in that report.

And so whatever happens, it's a sandbar,
Where all these days of helping now will end;
Just like the other items in my memory
They'll float along, then happy thoughts they'll rend.

I guess that is the challenge for this gifting –
Encourager's help out beyond belief;
Go farther till no wiggle-room's remaining;
Then ending-time comes with its sandy reef.

So here I am with shifting sands beneath me,
Around me, and within me, calling, ‘Change’;
While knowing all the while there's no more movement –
We've hit the sand, the end is now in range.

What comes to mind is spread of body giftings
Within us and as larger entity.
Encourager and giver have their places
At midpoint, but at end we others see.

Our care takes shapes and forms that change with seasons;
We each with gifts step in to play our parts;
But it's a larger body we are part of –
Each gift flows out expression of our hearts.

It's not that my encouragement is easy;
It's not – but it is easier for me
Than other tasks which call for different giftings,
Which far exceed my strengths – that's what I see.

Accepting that is hard for me this moment;
I hate the end of options when it comes;
But it will ease as others fill the opening
I cannot fill as time this river runs.

As I step back acknowledging my weakness,
Accepting other hands to carry on,
Depending on the body-life beyond me,
The sandbar has a chance for sweeter song.

For by myself all memories end on sandbars;
There is no other way when thus perceived;
But when the larger picture is the focus,
I see my role as part when thus conceived.

We work our part of road, then turn things over
To others who pick up where we leave off;
Together we live on beyond each ending
Returning, I pick up while others scoff.

For somewhere there's another who needs loving,
Where others can't continue giving care;
It's there starts up my section of the roadway
So I return, and pick new load up there.

My training, and the brownie points in family,
Are for the tasks which start where I leave off;
Accepting that, with scoffing at my gifting
Is silly, and it's painful now I stop.

And so, my friends I turn into your keeping,
A person who is very dear to me,
And hope I can support your care-full working
As well as you have done, now I can see.

For now I see more clearly parts we're playing
Are each a section of the road in life;
It is not perfect – gravel is the surface,
But better that than memory's sandbar strife.

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