As we hold, we are held.

A roadside desk drawer reminded me of how God works.

It had been a bit since I wrote a poem, but (as all poets know) when something in the world strikes you, like lightening through the mind and heart, you must write. That’s how I felt when I casually glanced out my window on a morning commute and saw a desk drawer sitting in a ditch. There was no bureaux or hutch to which it belonged. It was alone, open to the morning air and sunlight. And so I wrote,

The Lone Desk Drawer

Open. Set apart. Empty,
But for the sunlight on the grain,
But for the memory, wild as rain,
But for the morning air in you,
Soaked as much in hope as dew.

Resting in the roadside ditch. Lonely,
But for the ants beneath the wood,
But for blackbirds who understood,
But for the caterpillar in the mist
Soon to be bound in chrysalis.

Holding nothing, all things held.
Beholding all while still beheld.

The drawer was meant to hold things—good things. Precious things. And yet it sat open. In the end, it could not retain anything. It had no power over the world and who might open it by the handle to store things within. Like us. And, also like us, the drawer was placed in the world to behold whatever would come its way. But while it would behold all things stored inside itself, it would remain beheld by the maker. Like us.

God works by setting out a divine and personal plan for each of our lives. And each of those plans is tied in various ways to his own glory and the uplifting of his Son. That’s why there are things you are meant to do today. God is intentional with you. Purposeful. Nothing you do today will be strictly arbitrary. But as you go about your day, as you behold the world around you, you are constantly beheld by God. God not only sees you (Gen. 16:13); he upholds you with the word of his power (Heb. 1:3).