It seems like I'm sharing a lot of poetry right now, but sometimes poetry just has a way of speaking to the depths of one's soul, of gripping one's heart with truth. Tonight I share a poem from Stanislaw Baranczak.
"If china, then only the kind
you wouldn't miss under the mover's shoes
or the treads of a tank;
if a chair, then one that's not too comfortable, or
you'll regret getting up and leaving;
if clothes, then only what will fit in one suitcase;
if books, then those you know by heart;
if plans, then the ones you can give up
when it comes time for the next move
to another street, another continent or epoch
or world,
Who told you to settle in?
Who told you this or that would last forever?
Didn't anyone ever tell you that you'll never
in the world
feel at home here?"
Life is temporary and fragile. Sometimes we forget that our lives our a vapor that could pass away in an instant. I'm not promised the next year, day, or even the next breath. I don't usually stop to ponder the fact that this could be my last night on this earth. But on another level, as a Christian, the question haunts: "Who told you to settle in? Who told you this or that would last forever?"
